


thievery with a side of murder

by momentarilypermanent



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dark Brotherhood Questline, Happy Ending, Thieves Guild Questline (Elder Scrolls)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 04:48:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 30,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29678670
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/momentarilypermanent/pseuds/momentarilypermanent
Summary: Joining the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood at the same time may be overwhelming, but Kivik has it under control. That is, until people start betraying her left and right, she's contracted to kill the Emperor, and the ladies of Whiterun still think she's a normal mom. Essentially a combined rewrite of the entire Dark Brotherhood and Thieves Guild storylines, with a happy ending because Astrid does NOT deserve to die, thank you.
Comments: 9
Kudos: 7





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi. Please be aware I'm writing this for me because I'm gay and Astrid deserved better. That is all.

As she slipped into the orphanage, Kivik wondered if she was going too far. Revenge was something Kivik understood, but her style was more...emotional revenge. Clean. This was, well, murder, and in front of a room full of children, no less. To make matters worse, Kivik was operating under the word of a child, and a confused child at that, who thought she was a member of the Dark Brotherhood. Kivik hesitated, crouched in the hall.  _ Nobody knows I’m here, _ she thought.  _ I could still leave.  _ Surely the children wouldn’t benefit from Grelod being killed, would they? Who would look after them? She strained to hear the voices from the next room.

“Those who shirk their duties will get an extra beating. Do I make myself clear?”

As Kivik listened to the despair in the children’s voices, she changed her mind. Peering around the corner, she saw a woman who must be Grelod standing in front of a small cluster of downtrodden children.  _ No kids between me and her. Good.  _

Silently, Kivik readied her arrow.

“And one more thing! I will hear no more talk of adoptions! None of you riff-raff is getting adopted. Nobody needs you, nobody wants you. That, my darlings, is why-”

Grelod was suddenly silent, as she stared in amazement at the arrow sticking out of her stomach. The children stared. Someone screamed. Grelod blinked, and for a moment, looked directly into Kivik’s eyes. Kivik looked back, knowing that the poison on the arrow was spreading fast through Grelod’s body. With another startled blink, Grelod fell, and as she lay motionless on the dirty floor of the orphanage, the children around her burst into cheers.

Kivik had no regrets.

She was perusing the market stalls idly, the sound of the children’s joy still ringing in her ears, when she felt a tap on her shoulder and turned to see a tall nord in somewhat dirty clothes smirking at her.

“Never done an honest day’s work in your life, eh lass?” he asked.

Kivik panicked. “How could you possibly know that?” she returned. Her voice was too high, her reaction too strong. Had he seen her entering the orphanage? Heard the scream?

The man winked, and Kivik knew that, somehow, he had meant it as a compliment.

“Who are you?” she asked.

“The name’s Brynjolf.”

“And what do you want?”

“Well, I’ve got a bit of an errand to perform, and I need an extra pair of hands. And in my line of work, extra hands are well paid.”

“What do you want me to do?” Kivik asked cautiously.

Brynjolf grinned. “Simple! I’m going to cause a distraction and you’re going to steal Madesi’s silver ring from his stand, and slip it into Brand-Shei’s pocket.”

“Why Brand-Shei?”

“There's someone that wants to see him put out of business permanently. That's all you need to know. Now, since we're not the Dark Brotherhood, we're not going to kill him, we're just going to make sure he sits in the prisons for a few days.”

Kivik panicked again. “The Dark Brotherhood? Who said anything about the Dark Brotherhood?”

Brynjolf looked at her quizzically. “I did. About ten seconds ago, lass. Are you sure you’re up for this?”

_ Pull yourself together, Kivik.  _ “Yes. Yes, I’m ready. Let’s get this started.”

Brynjolf grinned again, and despite the fact that he was asking her to commit a crime, Kivik trusted him. “Excellent. I’ll draw the crowd’s attention. Now go.”

He turned and walked to the empty stall in the market, calling out and gesturing for everyone’s attention. Kivik paused for a moment, curious what his diversion would be. He whisked a large potion bottle out of the stall, and held it aloft. Kivik stifled a laugh. Surely he wasn’t going to try to sell some miracle potion?

Whatever he was doing, it worked. A small crowd formed around Brynjolf and his obviously phony potion, and no one was looking at Kivik, or at Madesi’s stall. She crept over to it and peered around the back. There. A locked strongbox, surely where he would keep his silver ring. Kivik crouched and pulled a lockpick from her pocket, fiddling with the lock and quietly cursing as Brynjolf described the wondrous effects of his new elixir. Finally, she got the lock open. There was the silver ring, along with a small pouch of septims. Kivik reached for them, then hesitated. Would it be suspicious if the gold was stolen but not found on Brand-Shei?  _ Better to leave it,  _ she thought, closing the lockbox again.

Turning the ring nervously in her hand, she crept over to the crowd. For a moment, Brynjolf met her eye, but he gave no outward indication he had seen her, and continued speaking. Silently, Kivik approached Brand-Shei, who was listening attentively, and gently dropped the ring into his pocket. She backed away, and hastily assumed what she hoped was a natural position at the other end of the crowd. Seeing her, Brynjolf gave a tiny nod, and began to dispel the crowd. 

As the merchants returned to their stalls and the shoppers to their shopping, Kivik watched Brynjolf whisper conspiratorially to one of the guards, and froze.  _ Was I wrong about him? Are they going to arrest me?  _

But the guard walked angrily over to Brand-Shei, and Brynjolf returned to Kivik, grinning from ear to ear.

_ " _ Looks like I chose the right person for the job! And here you go,” he said, handing her a sizable bag of coins, “your payment, just as I promised. The way things have been going around here, it's a relief that our plan went off without a hitch."

Kivik frowned. “What's been going on?” 

“Ah, my organization's been having a run of bad luck, but I suppose that's just how it goes. But never mind that, you did the job and you did it well. Best of all, there's more where that came from, if you think you can handle it.” He smiled at her. 

Kivik smiled back. “I can handle it.” 

“All right, then. The group I represent has its home beneath Riften in a tavern called the Ragged Flagon. We’ll talk there tomorrow, if you’re interested. Tell me, is this your first time in Riften?”

Kivik nodded. “Head to the Bee and Barb, then, and get yourself one of Talen-Jei’s fancy drinks. You’ve earned it. Brynjolf patted her on the shoulder. “Good work, lass. I’ll see you at the Ragged Flagon tomorrow.”

Kivik watched him walk casually away and disappear down the steps to the boardwalk before stepping into the Bee and Barb. Brynjolf was right, after all, though he had no idea how right he was. She  _ had  _ earned a fancy drink today. She asked the innkeeper for a room and a White-Gold Tower. She sipped the surprisingly tasty floral drink in silence and reflected on what she had done since entering Riften that morning. Murdered an orphanage warden in cold blood, in front of several children. Stolen from one man, framed another.  _ And I earned a hundred septims. And made a friend. _

Although she didn’t regret killing Grelod - the woman had clearly been as bad as the runaway child had told her - and she thought no one had seen her in the orphanage, or in the marketplace, Kivik couldn’t shake the strange feeling that somehow, there would be consequences for this. As she lay in her bed in the cramped inn room, lulled by the lavender in her drink, her last thought before she fell asleep was  _ what have I gotten myself into? _

  



	2. Chapter 2

Kivik woke to the feeling of boards beneath her, and instantly knew something was wrong. She struggled to open her eyes, and saw that she was no longer in the Bee and Barb. Alarmed, she tried to sit up, but this made the walls in front of her tilt and spin. She must have been drugged. She steadied herself with her hand, and waited for the spinning to stop, breathing deeply. Soon, the room stopped moving, and Kivik was able to sit up and look around.

She wasn’t alone.

A masked woman in red and black armor lounged carelessly on top of a bookshelf. _How did she get up there?_ Kivik wondered. _Why would she want to sit on top of the bookshelf? There’s a chair right there._ And then, _whatever she gave me must still be affecting me. Who cares if she’s sitting on a bookshelf._

“Sleep well?” the woman asked smugly.

“Who are you?”

“ _Who_ I am isn’t really as important as _what_ I am. And what I am is an admirer, of sorts.”

 _An admirer? Admirers don’t generally kidnap people._ As she grew more fully awake, Kivik was more certain that this was what had happened. She wondered if something had been slipped into that White-Gold Tower she had ordered at the Bee and Barb. _An admirer?_ If the woman was alone, Kivik couldn’t possibly be far from Riften. She could even be _in_ Riften. Was this a member of the Thieves’ Guild? She had heard rumors about them from the Riften guards, but nothing like this. Kidnapping wasn’t thievery.

“Where am I? Who are you?” she demanded.

“Does it matter? You're warm, dry, and still very much alive. That's more than can be said for old Grelod, hmm?” 

Kivik tensed. Whoever she was, the mysterious woman knew what Kivik had done to Grelod. Briefly, Kivik wondered whether the distinctly unpleasant Grelod could have had someone who cared about her enough to kidnap her murderer.

“You know about that?” she asked cautiously.

“Old hag gets butchered in her own orphanage? Things like that tend to get around. Oh, but don't misunderstand. I'm not criticizing. It was a good kill. Old crone had it coming. And you saved a group of urchins, to boot. But, there is a slight problem.”

“Problem?”

"You see, that little Aretino boy was looking for the Dark Brotherhood. For me, and my associates. Grelod the Kind was, by all rights, a Dark Brotherhood contract. A kill that you stole. A kill you must repay."

This sounded like a threat, but the woman’s voice held no malice. Kivik struggled to understand what the woman was asking. For a Dark Brotherhood member, the woman was surprisingly pleasant, and Kivik supposed if the woman had wanted her dead she would never have woken up in this room. Somehow, the woman didn’t seem the type to gloat over a kill.

“You want me to… murder someone else? Who?” Kivik asked. Although she couldn’t see the woman’s face, she was certain that she smiled at this.

“Well now, funny you should ask. If you turn around, you'll notice my guests. I've collected them from... well, that's not really important.” Kivik turned, and realized that there were three other people in the room, bound, with hoods covering their faces. Had they been here this whole time? But the woman was still speaking.

“The here and now. That's what matters. You see, there's a contract out on one of them, and that person can't leave this room alive. But… which one? Go on, see if you can figure it out. Make your choice. Make your kill, I just want to observe… and admire."

Kivik turned back to face the woman lounging on the high shelf. “All right. I’ll do it. I’ll kill one of them.”

"See, I knew we could resolve this civilly,” the woman said smoothly. “A debt owed must be repaid. You understand that. Pick your guest, and send the poor fool to the Void. I'll give you the key to this shack, and you'll be on your way."

Kivik stood up shakily and approached the first of the bound prisoners. She couldn’t see the man’s face, but his armor gave him away as a soldier.

“Who are you?” she asked gently.

“My name is Fultheim. I’m a soldier. Well, mercenary, really. You know, a… a sellsword. I've lived in Skyrim all my life. That's all! I'm a nobody, really. So can't you just let me go?"

“Would someone pay to have you killed?”

“What? Oh gods, I don't want to die…”

“Shhh... don't be afraid. You can tell me.”

“Okay, well, I guess it's possible. I've been selling my sword arm for years now. Killed a lot of people. Could be someone wanted revenge. But... But you're not going to kill me. Right?” The man sounded terrified. Kivik decided she probably wasn’t going to get much more detail out of him. It was time to move on.

The second prisoner was a woman, and she seemed determined to escape her bonds through sheer force of will. Before Kivik even spoke to her, she began scolding in a harsh voice.

“Cowards! Stealing a woman from her home! For shame!”

 _You’re not the only one who’s been kidnapped tonight,_ Kivik thought, rolling her eyes. 

“Who are you?” she asked.

“None of your damn business who I am!” the woman replied angrily. “If you're going to kill me, just do it already! As Mara is my witness, if I didn't have this hood on right now I would spit right in your face!”

“Would someone pay to have you killed?” 

“Excuse me? What kind of question is that?”

Kivik was really getting tired of this woman. “One last time: Would. Someone. Pay. To. Have. You. Killed?” 

The woman made a disgusted noise, as if Kivik had asked the stupidest question in the world, and wasn’t actively contemplating killing her. “I'm kneeling here with my hands bound and a sack over my head, and you have the gall to ask me that? What do you think, genius?”

Kivik almost killed the woman right there and then, but stopped herself and walked over to the third prisoner. She could swear the woman on the shelf had giggled while the second prisoner was berating her, too.

She stood in front of the last prisoner, a man in a very fancy outfit. “Who are you?”

“Ahhh... Vasha, at your service, obtainer of goods, taker of lives, and defiler of daughters,” he said smugly. “Have you not heard of me?” 

_Defiler of daughters?_ Kivik’s sword was through the man’s stomach before he could say another word. She hadn’t bothered to ask who he was or whether someone was likely to have wanted him killed, but if he proudly introduced himself as _defiler of daughters_ Kivik was certain she had made the right choice. And even if she hadn’t, she had no regrets. She turned back to face the woman on the bookshelf.

“Ah, the conniving Khajit,” the woman said. “Cat like that was sure to have enemies. It's no wonder you chose him.”

“So who was it? Who had the contract?”

"Oh. No, no, no,” the woman replied gleefully. “Don't you understand? Guilt, innocence, right, wrong, all irrelevant. What matters is I ordered you to kill someone, and you obeyed.”

“So... I'm free to go?” 

“Of course. And you've repaid your debt, in full. Here's the key to the shack,” she said, extending her hand. Kivik stepped toward her and warily reached for the key. “But why stop here? I say we take our relationship to the next level. I would like to officially extend to you an invitation to join my family. The Dark Brotherhood. In the southwest reaches of Skyrim, in the Pine Forest, you'll find the entrance to our sanctuary. It's just beneath the road from Falkreath, hidden from view. When questioned by the Black Door, answer with the correct passphrase, ‘silence, my brother,’ and then you're in. And your new life begins.” The woman looked at Kivik warmly. 

“Wait,” Kivik said. “What’s your name? Or am I not allowed to know?”

“Astrid,” the woman replied, “and yours?”

“I’m Kivik.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Kivik,” Astrid said, slipping off the shelf and landing silently on the floor. “remember, the Sanctuary is in the southern Pine Forest. Just beneath the road, and away from prying eyes. I'll see you at home.”

  
  



	3. Chapter 3

After leaving the shack and getting her bearings, Kivik realized that she was in fact quite a long way from Riften. How Astrid had managed to drag her unconscious body most of the way to Solitude was a mystery, but Kivik didn’t mind the long journey. She had been meaning to return to Whiterun soon anyway, before her friends there began to wonder what she was up to.

She arrived in the city late. Too late to purchase a treat from the market for her daughter. After being gone so long, Kivik didn’t want to return to Lucia empty-handed, so she swiped a sweetroll off an unattended stall when no one was looking, leaving a single septim in its place sheepishly.

“Mama, you’re home!” Lucia cried joyously as Kivik stepped into the house.

“Lucia!” she replied, hugging the little girl tightly. “I have something for you. Here,” she held out the sweetroll. 

Lucia grinned, delighted. “Thanks! You’re the best.”

The little girl skipped off to her room to eat the roll, and Kivik rose as the housecarl, Lydia, came down the stairs.

“Welcome back, my Thane,” she said as Kivik sat to take off her boots.

“Hello, Lydia. It’s been a while, how has Lucia been?”

“She got into a bit of a fight with Braith the other day, Carlotta told me she pulled out her wooden sword and challenged the girl to a duel, right there in the market square!”

Kivik chuckled. That sounded like Lucia, all right. “And did Braith accept?”

“Apparently not,” Lydia laughed. “She didn’t have a sword. It wouldn’t be fair unless they both had swords, you see. But what about you? Where have your adventures been taking you?”

Kivik glanced at Lucia’s doorway and lowered her voice. “Recently? To a little shack in the woods near Solitude. I was… kidnapped.”

“Kidnapped?!” Lydia whispered back, “are you all right?”

“I’m fine. It wasn’t really malicious kidnapping. But I need to head back to Riften in the morning to speak to some people, look into it further. I’ll tell you all about it once I know more, and know what my next step is.”

Lydia looked concerned, but nodded. “You had better get some rest, then, if you’re traveling tomorrow. I’ll get Lucia settled.”

The next morning, after saying goodbye to Lydia and a slightly disappointed Lucia, Kivik started on the long road back to Riften.  _ How in the world had Astrid brought her all that way, and in one night?!  _ With a shudder, Kivik realized that it may  _ not  _ have been only one night. It hadn’t occurred to her to ask Lydia what day it was, and the question would only have alarmed the housecarl anyway. Kivik would have to find some other way of discovering how long she had been missing. 

As she walked, stopping only briefly to fill a few empty bottles with water and have a little bread and cheese, Kivik thought about all the strange things that had befallen her in the last, well, however many days, and even more about the strange people she had met. A thief, an assassin, both of whom had asked her to commit crimes for them immediately upon meeting, why did Kivik instinctively want to trust them both?

Kivik remembered the last words Astrid had said to her before she had slipped out the door of the shack.  _ I’ll see you at home _ . Considering Astrid had just kidnapped her, those words had sounded remarkably sincere. The woman must take the “brotherhood” part of the Dark Brotherhood very seriously. And Brynjolf, patting her shoulder and saying  _ good work, lass,  _ had been as welcoming as anyone she had met in her travels in the last year. More welcoming than most, even.

Although she was Thane of two cities, Kivik knew that she didn’t really fit in in either one. The people of Solitude were too convinced of the Empire’s righteousness, and the people of Whiterun… well, they didn’t know much about what Kivik really did when she was away on “the Jarl’s business”. Kivik could sit and chat with the ladies of Whiterun all day, and sometimes did, but with the exception of Lydia, she rarely told them anything about herself. Anything true, anyway.

All of these thoughts and more kept Kivik occupied until she finally stumbled into Riften, well after dark. Where had Brynjolf said to meet? The Ragged Flagon? He hadn’t said where to find this place, only that it was somewhere beneath Riften. On the lower level perhaps, by the canal? Kivik peered over the railing into the gloom and decided that however long it had been, Brynjolf could wait another day. Exhausted, she hired a room at the Bee and Barb, ordering no drinks, and making sure the door was locked this time, and slept.

She was pleased to find herself still in the Bee and Barb the next morning, and managed to learn from a guard that the Ragged Flagon was not only on the lower level of Riften, but in something called the “ratway”, which didn’t sound very pleasant. The guard told her in no uncertain terms to stay away from both the ratway and the Ragged Flagon, and Kivik assured him that she only needed the location in order to more successfully avoid it. To her amazement, this worked, and the guard pointed out a door off of the boardwalk. Kivik thanked him, waited until he had walked away, and dashed down the stairs and through the door.

Whatever this place was, it had earned its name by the smell alone, as far as Kivik was concerned. She walked quietly down a short tunnel, unsure of what to expect. Suddenly she heard the voices of two men not far ahead, having some sort of argument. Kivik froze, listening. They seemed to be some sort of thieves, which wasn’t surprising. But thieves were what she had come to find, right?

“Hello,” she said cautiously, stepping forward. “Can you tell me the way to the Ragged Flagon?”

The two men whirled around and within seconds, Kivik found herself fighting under attack.  _ So much for being friendly, _ she thought, drawing her sword and impaling the first of the two men. The second followed soon after, and Kivik ruffled through their pockets for loose change, not finding much. She sighed, and sheathing her sword, considered her options. 

A few fights and several dead skeevers later (gods, how she hated skeevers) Kivik reached a door which  _ had  _ to be the Ragged Flagon. Stepping inside quietly in case she was mistaken, she found herself in a large room with a strange pool in the center. Across the room she heard Brynjolf’s familiar voice, and saw him conversing with a small group of men. 

“I’m telling you,” he said insistently, “this one’s different.”

“We’ve all heard that before, Bryn! Quit kidding yourself,” another man answered.

“It’s time to face the truth, old friend,” said a third. “You, Vex, Mercer… you’re all part of a dying breed. Things are changing.”

Brynjolf caught Kivik’s eye. “Dying breed, eh?” he said to the third man. “What do you call  _ that _ , then?” he gestured dramatically at Kivik, who stepped forward into the room awkwardly. 

The two men didn’t seem impressed by Brynjolf’s grand gesture. Noting this, Brynjolf rolled his eyes and walked over to where Kivik stood.

“Well, well, color me impressed, lass. I started to think I would never see you again. Where have you been?”

“I, um…” Kivik began, then faltered. “How long has it been?”

“How  _ long  _ has it been?” Brynjolf said incredulously. “It’s been three days since I told you to go have yourself a drink! How many did you have?!”

“Just one,” Kivik said, “I swear. But I think there was something in it, I - I was kidnapped.” Something made Kivik tell him the truth, though she knew that might not be wise.

“Kidnapped?” he said, sounding even more alarmed than Lydia had.

“By the Dark Brotherhood,” she continued, deciding that if she was telling him the truth, she may as well make it complete.

“The Dark Brotherhood? And you’re  _ alive?! _ ”

“Well, I think they were trying to… recruit me. I came here to ask around, see if anyone knew anything about them.”

“By the gods, lass, and here I thought you just weren’t interested in crime!” Brynjolf exclaimed, leading Kivik farther into the tavern. “Sit down, lass, and let’s hear the story. Vekel! Some ale over here.”

Kivik sat and took the offered ale. She explained to Brynjolf about the White-Gold Tower, waking up in the shack, and the choice Astrid had told her to make. He nodded in approval when she told him what the man she had killed had said, but didn’t say much as she spoke. When she had caught up to the present, he told her to wait, and disappeared down a corridor behind the bar. He reappeared a moment later, leading a young woman who Kivik thought she might have seen around the Bee and Barb.

“This is Sapphire,” he said. “Sapphire, this is…”

“Kivik.”

“...this is Kivik. I believe Sapphire has some experience with the Brotherhood, I thought maybe she could answer your questions. The only other one of us who’s dealt with them as far as I’m aware is Delvin Mallory, but he’s away on a job at the moment.”

The two sat down, and Kivik took a sip of her ale, waiting for Sapphire to speak.

“So. You’ve gotten yourself mixed up with the Dark Brotherhood somehow?”

Kivik nodded. “I… may have unintentionally stolen one of their kills. A woman named Grelod, here in Riften.”

“That was you?” Brynjolf interrupted. “I wondered why you were acting so jumpy that day.”

“That was me. Anyway, they must have heard about it quickly, because that night I went to sleep in the Bee and Barb, and woke up most of the way across Skyrim. A woman named Astrid took me. She told me how to find their sanctuary, but I haven’t decided whether that’s a good idea or not yet. Do you know anything about her?”

“Astrid? She’s the leader of the group. Trust me, if she wanted you anything but alive, you wouldn’t be sitting here right now.”

“That’s what I figured. I’m just a little shaken by the whole kidnapping thing.”

“Understandable. But Astrid… she may be a murderer, but she’s a good woman. She took me in when I-” Sapphire faltered. “I- was a part of the Brotherhood once,” she finished quietly.

“What happened?” Kivik asked. 

“I left. There’s not a lot of money in assassination these days. Most of my contracts were petty grudges against small-town nobodies. I do much better for myself with the Guild. But the Dark Brotherhood was there for me when I needed them. If you think that line of work calls to you more than this, then Astrid and the Brotherhood would certainly be a good place for you.”

“But **—** do I have to choose?” Kivik protested. “Couldn’t I work for both?”

“I wouldn’t advise it,” a grey-haired man said, materializing out of the shadows. “It generally isn’t best to… divide one’s loyalties.”

“Who are you?” Kivik asked.

“Mercer Frey,” the man responded. “I’m the Guildmaster. And you must be Brynjolf’s new recruit?”

Kivik regretted her rude tone when she saw Brynjolf’s look of alarm. “Yes,” she said more politely, “I’m Kivik.”

“Well, Kivik, I trust you’re not going to make any… poor decisions? Get the Guild into any more trouble than it’s already in?”

For a moment, Kivik wondered if she should tell him that she seemed to be a trouble magnet, as well as apparently being a Dragonborn and destined to save the world. She decided against it. “No. No, I’m not.”

“Good,” he said dryly. “I want to make one thing perfectly clear. If you play by the rules, you walk away rich. You break the rules and you lose your share. No debates, no discussion… you do what we say, when we say.”

Kivik nodded.


	4. Chapter 4

It was strange, returning to Falkreath after so long away. When she was young, growing up in Helgen, it had seemed like a large city to her, but now it seemed small. Faded. When she stopped by the general store to stock up on supplies, Kivik was grateful that no one recognized her, but why would they? The capable warrior walking into town today was nothing like the timid, uncertain girl who had occasionally visited with her mother to sell excess cabbages that couldn’t be sold at home. Nonetheless, Kivik didn’t stop to chat.

She left town and started down the road, watching the side of the road intently for a path down. Finally, she spotted something, narrow enough that it could be a deer trail, but she was sure this was the path to the sanctuary. She wasn’t mistaken. At the bottom of the tiny trail the underbrush changed to nightshade, and as she stopped to pick a few of the beautiful purple flowers, Kivik noticed a strange, dark pool. Approaching the pool curiously, she saw the door.

It was cut into the stone, and carved into the shape of a massive skull, with a red handprint in the center of the forehead. It certainly didn’t look very welcoming, but Kivik was determined. She approached the door, and placed her hand on it, wondering if there was some sort of secret button she had to push.

Suddenly, the door spoke. “What is the music of life?” it asked, in a horrible, grating voice, which Kivik thought sounded like a draugr dying for a second time.

“Silence, my brother,” she responded, and the door swung open.

“Welcome home…” it croaked as she entered.

Inside, Kivik found Astrid almost immediately. She wasn’t sitting on a bookshelf this time, nor was she wearing a mask.

“Ah, at last! I hope you found the place all right,” she said, smiling warmly at Kivik.

“What happens now?” Kivik replied.

“Well, what happens now is you start your new life in the Dark Brotherhood. You're part of the family, after all. This, as you can see, is our Sanctuary. You won't find a safer place in all of Skyrim. So get comfortable.”

Kivik wasn’t sure what to say. 

“Hmm, the silence suits you,” Astrid continued. “Gives you an air of mystery. Now, down to business. I'm arranging a job for you. But in the meantime, go talk to Nazir. He may have some smaller contracts to tide you over. Soon, the Night Mother will arrive. And things around here are sure to get even more interesting. Ah, but one last thing.” she held out a suit of armor, and Kivik took it. “A welcome home present. The armor of the Dark Brotherhood. May it serve you well in all your... endeavors.”

The armor was red and black like Astrid’s, and weighed next to nothing. Astrid indicated a small side room, and Kivik put the new armor on, finding it a perfect fit. Examining the material, she could see that each segment of the armor held powerful enchantments, but she would need more study to determine exactly what they were. But she could investigate that later. Pulling on the gently shimmering gloves, she returned to where Astrid waited. Astrid smiled when she saw Kivik in the new armor, and Kivik knew that she wouldn’t be able to follow Mercer’s… suggestion. 

“Are there any rules I should be aware of?” Kivik asked.

“Used to be the Dark Brotherhood was bound by Five Tenets, but we stopped following those years ago. All those rules, all that discipline, and look where the Dark Brotherhood ended up. We're the last of our kind, and we live the way we see fit. Bottom line - respect your family. Do that, and everything else will fall into place.”

“You mentioned the Night Mother,” Kivik continued. “Who’s that?”

“Who is the Night Mother? The Unholy Matron, the Shrouded Lady, the Mistress of the Void. She goes by many names. Ages past, Sithis gave a woman five children. She killed them to win his favor, thus becoming the Night Mother. If you believe that sort of thing. Today, she's... well, she's a skeleton. An ancient corpse. But, more importantly, a corpse that's being brought to this Sanctuary by her Keeper.” Astrid didn’t sound particularly enthusiastic about this, and Kivik decided to press her luck by asking for more information.

“So the Night Mother is being brought here?” 

“Yes,” Astrid sighed. “A few months ago I received word from the Night Mother's Keeper that he had arrived in Skyrim from Cyrodiil. The Night Mother's crypt, in Bravil, was destroyed. A result of the chaos caused by the war with the Thalmor. That forced a relocation. I don't know where the Keeper has been these past few months, but I recently received another letter. He's bringing the Night Mother here. Soon.”

Kivik considered asking more, but Astrid cut her off before she could speak. “You’d better go introduce yourself to the rest of the family. They’re all very eager to meet you. And don’t forget to pick up your first contract from Nazir.”

This sounded fairly final, so Kivik followed Astrid’s gesture down a small hallway and into a wide chamber. It was beautiful in a way, with a clear pool and high ceiling. In the center of the room, a small group of people, including what seemed to be a little girl around Lucia’s age, stood talking about their most recent jobs.

“Oh, please, kind sir,” the little girl was saying as Kivik approached, “my mama and papa left me all alone, and I'm so very hungry. I know a shortcut to the candy shop. Through this alley.” she lowered her voice in what must have been an imitation of an adult man. “Oh, very good. Very good. My, it is dark down here. Oh, but you are so beautiful. Such a lovely smile. Your teeth... your teeth! No! Aggghh!!” she dissolved into screams, and the rest of the group laughed.

“Oh, Babette, you are so wicked!” said another woman delightedly. Suddenly, the group seemed to notice Kivik, and all began introducing themselves excitedly. Well, some were excited. The old man, Festus, didn’t seem the type to be excited about anything, and Arnbjorn was civil at best, and told Kivik he gave her a week before she wound up dead in a ditch, but the others seemed pleased enough to meet her. Kivik learned that the little girl, Babette, was actually more than ten times her own age, and was also an alchemist, specializing in poisons. Kivik liked her immediately.

Sapphire had been right about the contracts, though. When Kivik spoke to Nazir about her first job, she was told that her targets were a beggar in Ivarstead and a miner in Dawnstar.  _ Who contacts the Dark Brotherhood to murder a beggar?  _ she wondered later, as her arrow sank into the man’s back. But her role wasn’t to arrange contracts, simply to carry them out. And so, a long trek to remote Dawnstar it was.

She stopped in Whiterun on her way, this time purchasing a pastry completely legally from Belethor. Just because she was now living a life of crime, apparently, didn’t mean she had to steal food for her daughter. She made a mental note to find something a little more exciting for the girl on her travels, if she was going to be travelling so much for the foreseeable future.

Lucia was as happy as ever to see her, and Kivik waited until she had gone to sleep to tell Lydia the entire story of what had happened, and where she was going now. Amazingly, Lydia didn’t even blink at Kivik declaring she had joined a mysterious family of assassins, or a guild of thieves, or even that she had murdered a beggar in cold blood. 

“Are you sure you’ll be able to manage them both at the same time?” she asked.

“I’ve managed to avoid picking a side in this damn civil war, haven’t I?” Kivik responded.

“This isn’t just some rebellion, Kivik, it’s the Dark Brotherhood! And that Mercer, he didn’t sound like he would be too pleased with you working with them. What if he does something to you?”

“The Thieves Guild doesn’t kill people. They told me so themselves, that’s Dark Brotherhood business.”

“Which you’re also involved in,” Lydia broke in.

“Lydia, it’ll be fine. It will! I know what I’m doing.”

Lydia didn’t look thoroughly convinced, but she let the matter drop. If Kivik was honest with herself, she wasn’t thoroughly convinced either. She might be able to get away with participating in both organizations for the moment, but when had anything ever worked out easily for her?

  
  



	5. Chapter 5

It was weeks before Kivik managed to make it back to the sanctuary. Her business in Dawnstar had taken longer than she had anticipated, having been roped into an effort to rid the town of mysterious nightmares, and then Mercer had her running back and forth all around Riften coercing people out of their money, as if he was testing her somehow. When she was finally able to get away, she traveled as quickly as she was able to Falkreath, hoping to inform Nazir that her contracts had gone smoothly, but when she entered the sanctuary, she found it in chaos.

A strange man in brightly colored clothing was standing next to an upright coffin, surrounded by most of the Brotherhood. Kivik stared in astonishment at the bells on his hat, and wondered if there had been some mistake.

“But the Night Mother is mother to all! It is her voice we follow! Her will! Would you dare risk disobedience? And surely... punishment?” the strange jester squeaked.

“Keep talking, little man, and we'll see who gets punished.” Arnbjorn growled, and Kivik almost liked him.

“Oh, be quiet you great lumbering lapdog,” Festus snapped. “The man has had a long journey. You can at least be civil. Mister Cicero, I for one am delighted you and the Night Mother have arrived. Your presence here signals a welcome return to tradition.”

“Oh, what a kind and wise wizard you are. Sure to earn our Lady's favor,” the jester whined. 

_ Why in the world is he dressed like that? And why is he so...squeaky? _

Astrid stepped forward and addressed him. “You and the Night Mother are of course welcome here, Cicero. And you will be afforded the respect deserving of your position as Keeper. Understood... husband?” she turned and looked pointedly at Arnbjorn, who grunted an acknowledgement.

“Oh, yes, yes, yes!” the jester squealed. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Astrid cut him off before he could continue. “But make no mistake. I am the leader of this Sanctuary. My word is law. Are we clear on that point?”

The jester was quick to agree to this, but something in his tone made Kivik wonder if his respect for Astrid was genuine. As the crowd dispelled, Kivik approached Astrid, forgetting all about the contracts she had meant to discuss with Nazir.

“Ah, there you are,” Astrid said, “Good, I was done speaking with that muttering fool anyway. We have some business to discuss.”

“Do you have a contract for me?” Kivik asked, surprised.

“I do indeed,” Astrid smiled. “You must go to the city of Markarth, and speak with the apothecary's assistant. The girl's been running her mouth, wants an ex-lover killed. She's apparently performed the Black Sacrament. Her name is Muiri. I need you to talk to her, set up the contract, and carry it out.”

“Anything else?”

“Just do whatever the contact wishes. Be professional, represent us well, and get the job done. Since it's your first contract, I'll let you keep whatever Muiri pays. She'll be generous, I'm sure. They always are.”

“Astrid,” Kivik asked quietly, “is Cicero dangerous?”

“Well, he’s quite obviously mad. Whether or not that makes him dangerous is another question entirely. Do I trust him? Not in the slightest,” Astrid sighed. “You go speak to Muiri. I’ll deal with the Night Mother and her little… clown.”

Kivik nodded, and went to find Nazir and inform him that she had completed her contracts. She couldn’t resist asking him what he thought about the latest additions to the sanctuary, as well.

“I don't like mimes, minstrels, thespians, acrobats, jugglers, troubadours or tumblers, he said emphatically. “Flutists give me a headache. I  _ particularly _ hate jesters. As a rule, I'm also not crazy about the corpses of old women. For the Night Mother, I'll make an exception. But Astrid is the mistress I serve.”

Kivik was grateful that someone else shared her opinion of jesters. As she moved around the sanctuary, gathering her belongings and preparing herself for the trip to Markarth, she kept a wary eye on the strange little man, but he didn’t approach her or try to have a conversation. He seemed quite occupied with the Night Mother’s coffin, though what an ancient corpse could possibly need in the way of care, Kivik had no idea. Still, she wasn’t complaining. It was probably better that the man was occupied.

_ Taking on an entire clan of bandits to kill one ex-lover is one thing,  _ Kivik thought as Muiri explained the nature of her contract,  _ but now this girl wants me to go all the way to Windhelm and back? That is not happening.  _

Remembering Astrid’s instructions to be professional, Kivik was careful to hide these thoughts, and told Muiri calmly that it would be taken care of, before heading to the inn, hiring a room, and sitting down heavily on the bed, wondering how in the world she was going to accomplish this. She had already made up her mind against going to Windhelm to kill Nilsine Shatter-Shield, but the group of bandits was still going to be a challenge. 

Kivik mentally ran through a list of people in Markarth who owed her favors, and came up with nothing useful. The priestesses at the temple of Dibella, though dear friends, were busy training their new Sybil, and her only other friend in town was a drunk who could barely hold a sword. No, she was just going to have to go for it alone.

It turned out to be not nearly as difficult to take down Dufont’s bandits as Kivik had worried. They hadn’t had the sense to clean up the large pools of highly flammable oil that had somehow been spilled in their lair, an unfortunate side effect of working with both Dwemer ruins and incompetent lackeys, and Kivik watched them go up in flames, having hardly lifted a finger. Dufont himself was slightly more of a challenge, but in the end, Kivik strolled out of the ruin with a shiny new enchanted weapon to study, and only a few bruises. 

After concluding her business with a grateful Muiri, Kivik returned to the sanctuary, hoping to slip in unnoticed and get a solid night’s sleep before speaking to Astrid about her next contract, but hardly made it more than a foot in the door before Astrid stopped her.

“Ah, you're back,” she said. “So, how went your first real contract? A bit more exciting than what Nazir's been offering, I'd wager.”

“I did what had to be done. Nothing more,” Kivik responded, deciding not to tell Astrid about the extra contract she had turned down.

“Of course, dear. Of course. And, from what my little ravens tell me, you handled yourself quite well. Now,” Astrid lowered her voice, “I need your assistance with a matter of a more… personal nature.”

“Is something wrong?” Kivik asked, her hand instinctively reaching for her blade, but Astrid shook her head.  _ No immediate threat, then. _

“It's Cicero. Ever since he arrived, his behavior's been... well, erratic would be an understatement. I do believe he is truly mad. But it's worse than that. He's taken to locking himself in the Night Mother's chamber, and talking. To someone. In hushed, but frantic tones,” Astrid’s tone began to grow a little frantic herself. “Who is he speaking with? What are they planning? I fear treachery.”

“Astrid, you're being a bit... paranoid,” Kivik said, as gently as she could.

“Maybe so, but healthy paranoia has saved this Sanctuary before, and my gut's telling me that demented little fool is up to something.”

“What do you want me to do?” 

“ _ Dear _ Kivik,” Astrid said, clearly pleased that Kivik had asked. “I need you to steal into that chamber, and eavesdrop on their meeting. It'll be no use clinging to the shadows. They'll see you for sure. No, you need a hiding place. Somewhere they'd never think to look. Like inside the Night Mother's coffin.”

_ Inside the coffin? Gods, this won’t be fun. _

“Yes, the coffin. It's perfect,” Kivik said aloud.

“They'll never think to check it. Who in their right mind would hide inside?”

_ Who indeed _ , Kivik wondered. 

“Now go. Before they meet. And report back to me with whatever you learn.” Astrid waved her in the direction of the Night Mother’s room urgently, and Kivik went.

The room was empty, except for the coffin. Good. Kivik fiddled with the lock on the coffin, and had it open within moments. The shriveled, desiccated corpse seemed to stare at Kivik, and she was unable to suppress a small shudder of revulsion.  _ Well, here goes nothing,  _ she thought, climbing into the coffin and pulling the door shut behind her.

And not a moment too soon. Kivik heard the door of the room open and someone enter, and caught her breath. There was no way to turn around in the tight coffin without alerting Cicero and his mysterious co-conspirator to her presence, so she stood face to face with the corpse, trying her hardest not to touch or smell it.

“Are we alone?” Kivik heard the jester say, and listened intently for the response. Perhaps she could identify the person by voice. But no one responded. 

Cicero continued, speaking seemingly to himself. “Yes… yes… alone. Sweet solitude. No one will hear us, disturb us. Everything is going according to plan. The others... I've spoken to them. And they're coming around, I know it. The wizard, Festus Krex... perhaps even the Argonian, and the un-child…”

_ Babette? Never!  _ Kivik thought, though she wasn’t surprised about Festus. He had been all too eager for the Night Mother’s arrival. But what was this plan Cicero was referring to?  _ Whatever it is, it can’t be good. _

“What about you?” the jester continued, speaking directly to the coffin where Kivik was hiding. “Have you... spoken to anyone? No… no, of course not. I do the talking, the stalking, the seeing and saying! And what do you do? Nothing! Not… not that I'm angry! No, never! Cicero understands. Cicero always understands! And obeys! You will talk when you're ready, won't you? Won't you, sweet Night Mother.”

_ So he  _ is  _ just talking to himself, _ Kivik thought,  _ for now. But I’ll have to tell Astrid about this plan he mentioned.  _

Suddenly, Kivik heard another voice, and nearly gave herself away in alarm.

“Poor Cicero. Dear Cicero. Such a humble servant. But he will never hear my voice. For he is not the Listener.”

The voice did not seem to come from the room outside, and Cicero continued as if he hadn’t heard it. “Oh, but how can I defend you?” he continued pitifully. “How can I exert your will? If you will not speak? To anyone!”

“Oh, but I will speak,” the voice said, and Kivik was certain it was speaking directly into her mind, addressing her. “I will speak to you. For you are the one. Yes, you. You, who shares my iron tomb, who warms my ancient bones. I give you this task - journey to Volunruud. Speak with Amaund Motierre.”

_ It’s the Night Mother,  _ Kivik realized with alarm.  _ This corpse is actually speaking to me! _

Outside, Cicero was still wailing to himself. “Poor Cicero has failed you. Poor Cicero is sorry, sweet mother. I've tried, so very hard. But I just can't find the Listener.”

“Tell Cicero the time has come,” the Night Mother said in Kivik’s mind. “Tell him the words he has been waiting for, all these years: ‘Darkness rises when silence dies.’”

Suddenly, the doors of the coffin swung open, as if the Night Mother had opened them herself, and Cicero shrieked in anger.

“What? What treachery! Defiler! Debaser and defiler! You have violated the sanctity of the Night Mother's coffin! Explain yourself! Speak, worm!”

This was a side of the jester that Kivik hadn’t seen before, and it was more than a little alarming. “The Night Mother spoke to me!” Kivik said hastily, before the fool could draw the dagger he was reaching for. “She said ‘I am the one.’” 

“She... spoke to you? More treachery! More trickery and deceit! You lie! The Night Mother speaks only to the Listener! And there is... no... Listener!” the jester screeched.

“Wait! She said to tell you, ‘Darkness rises when silence dies.’”

This seemed to work. Cicero stopped reaching for the dagger, and instead stepped back in shock, allowing Kivik to step out of the coffin. “She... she said that? She said those words... to you? ‘Darkness rises when silence dies’? But those are the words. The Binding Words. Written in the Keeping Tomes. The signal so I should know. Mother's only way of talking to sweet Cicero... Then... it is true! She is back! Our Lady is back! She has chosen a Listener! She has chosen you! Ha ha ha! All hail the Listener!”

Suddenly Astrid burst into the room, brandishing her weapon and looking around frantically. “By Sithis, this ends now!” she cried. “Back away, fool! Whatever you've been planning is over!” Astrid rushed over to where Kivik stood. “Are you all right? I heard the commotion. Who was Cicero talking to? Where's the accomplice? Reveal yourself, traitor!” she spun around, forgetting Kivik, and looked wildly around the room.

Cicero composed himself, or what passed for composed in his mind. “I spoke only to the Night Mother! I spoke to the Night Mother, but she didn't speak to me. Oh no. She spoke only to her! To the listener!” he said pitifully, and Kivik could swear his glance at her contained jealousy.

“What? The Listener?” Astrid asked. “What are you going on about? What is this lunacy?”

“It's true, it's true! The Night Mother has spoken! The silence has been broken! The Listener has been chosen!” Cicero wailed, and Astrid turned away from him in disgust.

“When I heard Cicero screaming, I knew you'd been discovered. I feared the worst,” she said with concern. “Are you all right?”

“I... I don't know. It happened so fast,” Kivik answered. 

“Okay, let's all take a deep breath,” Astrid said, placing her hands on Kivik’s shoulders. “Cicero said he spoke to the Night Mother, but she spoke to you? Please tell me this is some kind of sick joke.”

“It's true. The Night Mother spoke to me. She said I was ‘the one’.” 

“What? So Cicero wasn't talking to anyone else. Just... the Night Mother's body? And the Night Mother, who, according to everything we know, will only speak to the person chosen as Listener… just spoke. Right now… to you?”

“Yes,” Kivik said helplessly. 

“By Sithis. And… what did she say?”

“I must speak to someone named Amaund Motierre, in Volunruud,” Kivik said, wondering whether this would be a good time to mention Cicero’s allusion to a “plan”. She decided against it. Astrid seemed to be in shock, it was probably better to wait, and tell her once she had had some time to think.

“Amaund Motierre? I have no idea who that is. But Volunruud… that I have heard of,” Astrid said thoughtfully. “And I know where it is.”

“So I should go to Volunruud?” Kivik asked cautiously. “I should talk to this man?” 

“No. No! Listen, I don't know what's going on here, but you take your orders from me,” Astrid said firmly. “Are we clear on that? The Night Mother may have spoken to you, but I am still the leader of this family. I will not have my authority so easily dismissed. I… I need time to think about all this. Go see Nazir - do some work for him. I'll find you when I'm ready to discuss the matter further.”

Astrid stumbled out of the room, and Kivik looked warily at Cicero, who looked torn between jumping for joy and killing Kivik on the spot.  _ He probably wanted to be the Listener, _ she thought.  _ I wish he had been. Nazir was right about the corpses of old women. Especially talking corpses. Cicero can take her! _


	6. Chapter 6

While Astrid took her time deliberating over the Night Mother’s sudden fit of chattiness, Kivik decided to remove herself from the now somewhat awkward sanctuary, and return to Riften and the Guild. She climbed down the hidden ladder into the Guild’s cistern, and promptly ran into Mercer Frey. _Great. Now he’ll give me some crazy job. Do I never get a rest?_

“Ah, Kivik, you’re back. Where have you been all this time?”

“Um, I’ve been all over,” Kivik said vaguely. Mercer raised his eyebrows, but didn’t comment further on her absence.

“Why don’t you go talk to Delvin,” he said. “He can get you set up with some jobs.”

Kivik nodded and ran off to find Delvin before Mercer could ask more about what she had been doing for the last couple weeks. While he hadn’t explicitly forbidden her from working with the Dark Brotherhood, Kivik didn’t think he would be happy to know she had been carrying out contracts for them all this time and not doing any work for the Guild. _Or that their creepy dead woman chose me as ‘the one’._

“Delvin!” she said, sliding into a chair across from the man at the Ragged Flagon. “I heard you’re offering extra work. Got anything good? Something here in Riften, maybe?”

“As a matter of fact, I do have a bedlam job available here in the city. Interested?”

“Tell me about it,” Kivik said, waving down Vekel for a drink.

“Sometimes we like to remind a city that we mean business, so we hit it hard. Just steal whatever we can until we've made an impression. Simple, right? Almost. The catch is it doesn't count if anyone sees you take it. The message needs to be clear; we work in the shadows. Steal from anywhere in the hold, and you even get to keep everything you stole. So, you in?”

“ _Anywhere_ in the hold?” Kivik asked.

“Yes, anywhere,” Delvin replied. “It’s not about the things you steal, it’s about making a statement.”

“And you want me to do this here in Riften?”

“Yes, here in Riften. Aim for about five hundred septims worth of goods, then report back to me.”

“I’ll take it,” Kivik said quickly.

“Excellent. Happy stealing.” 

Later that night, as she picked the lock of the Black-Briar Meadery by the light of the moons, Kivik knew that this was _not_ what Delvin had meant when he said “anywhere in the hold”. Maven Black-Briar wasn’t only the most powerful person in Riften, but one of the Thieves Guild’s biggest clients. Stealing from _her_ was, well, crazy, but this was more than just a test of Kivik’s skill. 

This was revenge.

Kivik had been working on ways to cause Maven Black-Briar grief for some time now, ever since Helgen had burned and she had left her old life behind. She knew that stealing from Maven’s business was only petty crime, but Delvin’s conveniently vague job was simply too good of an opportunity to pass up. 

Kivik crept quietly around the meadery, stowing away bottle after bottle of the valuable reserve. This special mead, she knew, was usually only served to Jarls and the like. Well, tonight Kivik was going to splurge. She helped herself to several gold coins that were lying around as well, for good measure, then crept out again, closing the meadery door softly behind her.

Her next stop would require a little more caution. The family was sure to be home at this hour, but with any luck, they would be asleep, and wouldn’t hear Kivik entering the house. She was a little surprised that someone as wealthy and powerful as Maven wouldn’t have guards at her home, but supposed Maven thought herself above attack.

 _Who in their right mind would attack her?_ Kivik thought, hesitating just inside the door of Black-Briar manor. _I could still leave. No one has seen me._ But rather than leaving, she began scouring the entrance room for valuables. _Delvin said this was about making a statement,_ she thought, _and he was right. Maven needs to know she’s not the only person with power in this town._

Kivik pocketed several coin purses, a figurine of Dibella, and a few items of jewelry as she crept silently around the house. She also took a large bite out of a wheel of cheese that was sitting on the dining table, just for fun. Satisfied with her work in the top two stories of the house, she crept down the stairs to the basement. A locked door seemed like the most likely place for the type of stash she was looking for, but behind it, Kivik found only a grisly pile of human parts, sprinkled with nightshade flowers.

 _Looks like Maven’s been performing the Black Sacrament_ , Kivik thought with surprise. She noticed a slip of paper lying next to the effigy, and picked it up.

_Astrid,_

_I thought your people were supposed to_

_be reliable. I’ve performed the Black_

_Sacrament, I’ve paid the proper_

_penance, and I’ve waited patiently for_

_results. If you can’t handle a simple_

_assassination, I’ll find someone who_

_can. I want this contract handled, and_

_I want it handled immediately!_

_Maven Black-Briar_

Kivik replaced the note carefully, and locked the door to the small room behind her, wondering who Maven had intended to have killed. The note had also been addressed to Astrid by name. Did they know one another? It was bad enough that the Thieves Guild was so dependent on her, but if she had friends in the Brotherhood as well, that might become a problem. Kivik didn’t want to alienate _all_ of her new friends, and she certainly didn’t want to get on Astrid’s bad side. _I’ll worry about that later. It seems Astrid doesn’t even know Maven has performed the Sacrament._

For now, Kivik slipped quietly out of the house and returned to the Ragged Flagon, where she found a seat and opened one of her stolen bottles of Black-Briar reserve. Brynjolf promptly sat down next to her and eyed the bottle suspiciously.

“Where did you get that, lass?” he asked.

Kivik grinned. “Delvin!” she called, “I’ve finished that job!”

Brynjolf stared at her in horror. “You didn’t…”

Kivik grinned again and pulled out another bottle. “Would you like one? On me.”

Brynjolf took the bottle and examined it, taking a cautious sip. “Kivik,” he said quietly, “did you steal two bottles of Maven’s finest Black-Briar reserve?”

“Of course not,” Kivik replied innocently. “I stole seven. And a few other things as well. Delvin told me to steal from anywhere in Riften, you see. I think stealing from the most powerful woman in town and not getting caught will send an appropriate message, don’t you?”

Brynjolf gaped at her. “You robbed _Maven Black-Briar?!_ ”

“We’re thieves, aren’t we?”

“I appreciate the bravery, lass, but Maven’s simply not someone you mess with! And she’s one of our biggest clients, besides!”

Kivik took another sip of her reserve. It _was_ good. “Maybe I want to mess with her,” she said. “And who knows, maybe she won’t be running Riften for much longer.”

Brynjolf narrowed his eyes. “What’s this about, lass?”

“I just don’t like her,” Kivik said softly, “that’s all.”

“Listen, Kivik,” Brynjolf began, and she knew he was being serious. “I don’t know what your personal grudge against Maven Black-Briar may be, but the Thieves Guild cannot afford to lose her as a client. Do you understand?”

“But what if we could?” Kivik asked defiantly. “What if we didn’t need her anymore? What if the Guild was powerful on its own, without the Black-Briars’ backing?”

“On that day, I would be delighted to see you rob her blind,” Brynjolf said patiently, “but our luck hasn’t been so good recently. We do need her,” he sighed. “Can you just tell me what this is about, lass?”

“It-it was my brother,” Kivik said softly. “When I was young, he said that he was going to start his own business, and when he did, he would send for me. I was going to help him run the shop. We talked about it all the time, planning, and dreaming. Things at home were… well, we both wanted to escape.

“When he finally had enough money stashed away, he left. I thought he was going to fetch me soon, but instead he returned, half-dead, beaten by one of Maven’s men. She didn’t want him competing with her business, you see. My brother never talked about that dream again. 

“He died in Helgen, when the dragon came. They all did. I got my escape, in the end, but he never got his. All because of Maven Black-Briar and her greed. My brother died a hopeless man, because of her.”

Brynjolf was silent for a long time. “I’m sorry about your brother, lass,” he said finally. “I’ve been hearing some… interesting stories about you recently. They say you’re a Thane of both Whiterun and Solitude. Is it true?”

Kivik nodded.

“Listen, Kivik, if your influence in those cities can perhaps lead to increased fortunes for the Guild, and diminish our reliance on Maven, as you’re suggesting, I, personally, would have no problem with you taking your revenge on the woman. I would lend a hand, if you wanted it. But—for the Guild—for _me_ , can you wait until then?”

Kivik looked down at her drink. “I can. And—and I’m sorry. About the robbery. Delvin really did say steal from anywhere in the hold, and I thought… I don’t know what I thought. I’m sorry.”

Brynjolf waved the apology away dismissively. “I understand, lass. Mercer’s not going to be happy when he finds out about this, mind you, but I’ll smooth things over the best I can. You technically did what Delvin told you, after all.”

Kivik smiled at him gratefully, and they finished their drinks in silence. It was very late by now, and Kivik knew the relative peace would only last until morning, when Maven would wake and the news would start to spread through the city. As much as she was enjoying the delicious reserve, it was probably best to make herself somewhat scarce, at least for a little while. To that end, Kivik excused herself and made her way back up to the streets of Riften, which were still empty. 

Almost empty.

A strange man approached her. “I’ve got something I’m supposed to deliver—your hands only,” he said, handing her a note.

 _How did he know where to find me?_ Kivik wondered. She broke the wax seal and unfolded the note. It had the handprint mark of the Dark Brotherhood at the top. _From Astrid, then._ Below the handprint, Kivik found only four words.

_We need to talk._


	7. Chapter 7

Well, she certainly didn’t have any reason to hang around Riften any longer. Kivik felt a little bad leaving Brynjolf to deal with the mess she had no doubt created for the Thieves Guild, but this Night Mother business was serious. Well, back to the sanctuary it was, then.

The sun was just clearing the tops of the trees when Kivik arrived and opened the screeching door.

“You’re here. Good. We need to talk,” Astrid said before Kivik had made it three steps inside.

“Of course, Astrid. What is it?”

“Look. Something is happening here. I'm not sure entirely what that something is, but… well, we need to find out. If the Night Mother really did give you an order to talk to a contact, we'd be mad to ignore it. And I think we'd both agree, Cicero's brought quite enough madness to this Sanctuary. So go. Go to Volunruud. It's a crypt, pretty far to the northeast. Talk to this Amaund Motierre. And let's see where all this leads, alright?”

Kivik nodded, and Astrid marked the location of the crypt on her map, then looked at her expectantly.

“Astrid, I got your message in the middle of the night and practically ran all the way here. I was attending to… some business of mine before that. I haven’t slept since…” Kivik did some mental calculations. “since Morndas. This Volunruud place is hours away. I can’t speak to Amaund Motierre like this. I need to sleep first.”

Astrid nodded. “Of course. You’ll have to present a good impression of the Dark Brotherhood to this Motierre. But don’t rest too long, who knows how long he will wait at Volunruud before giving up on us.”

Kivik nodded, and started for the inner sanctuary, and a soft bed, but Astrid stopped her.

“What was this business you were attending to, if I may ask?”

“Um, it was Thieves Guild business,” Kivik said, deciding to tell Astrid the truth. “I do some odd jobs for them once in a while. Nothing big, just some light robbery.”  _ Well, part of the truth. _

Astrid looked thoughtful, but didn’t say anything more, and Kivik crept away to get some sleep, though the constant jingling of bells made it less than perfectly restful.

Several hours later, feeling physically better but more annoyed with Cicero than ever, Kivik started on her journey to Volunruud. As she passed Whiterun on the road, she thought longingly of a drink with the ladies in the Bannered Mare, a night spent peacefully at her own home, but knew that Astrid was right, and Motierre might not wait much longer. She could return to Whiterun after meeting with the man, maybe even take a little vacation. After all, she had money to spend after her exploits in Riften. 

The crypt didn’t look like much from the outside, but Kivik knew from experience that these things were generally filled to the brim with dead things that wanted to kill you, so she proceeded with caution. Inside, the first dead thing she encountered seemed to be truly dead, a skeleton of some past explorer with his notes still scattered around him.  _ Didn’t make it very far, did he?  _ She stepped over his bones and crept down a narrow staircase, finding herself in a wide room. There were multiple doors leading out of the room, and Kivik realized she had no idea  _ where  _ within the ruins she was supposed to find this Amaund Motierre. At random, she chose the leftmost door and stole silently down the narrow hall.

She nearly tripped over a dead draugr. Peering ahead into the dim chamber, Kivik saw that there were several more dead draugr scattered around the small room ahead of her.  _ Did Motierre kill all of these?  _ She picked her way over their bodies, stopping to pick up a few valuable-looking weapons, and made her way into the next room. 

Two men were waiting for her. One was dressed in fine armor and the other in a fancy tunic that wouldn’t protect him from a skeever. Kivik assumed that this was Motierre, and the other was the one who had taken care of the draugr she had seen.

"By the almighty Divines,” the fancy one said. “You've come. You've actually come. This dreadful Black Sacrament thing... it worked.”

Kivik tried to think of something appropriately mysterious and threatening to say. “The Night Mother heard your pleas, Motierre.”

“Yes, um… so it would seem. Well, I won't waste your time. I would like to arrange a contract. Several, actually. I daresay, the work I'm offering has more significance than anything your organization has experienced in, well, centuries.”

“Go on.” 

“As I said, I want you to kill several people. You'll find the targets, as well as their manners of elimination, quite varied. I'm sure someone of your disposition will probably even find it enjoyable,” the man looked mildly uncomfortable. “But you should know that these killings are but a means to an end. For they pave the way to the most important target. The real reason I'm speaking with a cutthroat in the bowels of this detestable crypt. For I seek the assassination of… the Emperor.”

Kivik tried not to let her astonishment show, but this was too much to take in silently. “You want us to kill... the Emperor? Of Tamriel?” 

“That is correct. What I ask is no small thing, of course,” he said, laughing nervously. “But you represent the Dark Brotherhood. This is… what you do? No? You must understand. So much has led to this day. So much planning, and maneuvering. Now, it's as if the very stars have finally aligned. But I digress. 

“Here, take these.” He motioned to the bodyguard, who stepped forward. “They need to be delivered to your, um... superior. Rexus. The items.”

The guard handed Kivik a letter with an ostentatious wax seal, and a glittering amulet wrapped in a small piece of cloth.

“The sealed letter will explain everything that needs to be done. The amulet is quite valuable - you can use it to pay for any and all expenses.”

Looking back and forth between the amulet and Motierre’s expensive tunic, Kivik saw an opportunity. The man clearly had gold to spare, and was quite determined to get this job done. 

“We'll require... significant compensation,” she said. “Can you pay the price?” 

Motierre laughed. “Oh, my furtive friend. When Emperor Titus Mede II lies dead, there will be gold… a fortune in gold. But so much more! It is said that the Dark Brotherhood, in recent years, has been in decline. That you lack the power, wealth, and respect of days past. Is it not so? If you do this, if you kill the Emperor… oh, how the masses will fear and respect you!”

Kivik supposed this was fair enough, and she shouldn’t press her luck demanding pay in advance. She nodded firmly at Motierre, who smiled.

“You must deliver those items to your superior. And I… I must get out of this foul place.”

Kivik wondered why he had decided to meet in the ruin in the first place, if he couldn’t stand a few draugr, but decided it was best to leave the matter be, and left him and his bodyguard carefully picking their way around the pile of corpses. 

Passing by the city of Whiterun once again, she thought of her daughter, and of Lydia, and all her friends there. They were all probably wondering what had happened to her, but after Motierre’s declaration, there was certainly no time for a vacation as she had hoped. No. This needed to be discussed with Astrid, immediately.

For the second time in as many days, Kivik stumbled into the sanctuary exhausted. Once again, Astrid was waiting for her just inside, but Kivik spoke before Astrid could ask her what she had discovered.

“Motierre wants us to kill the emperor,” she said abruptly, and watched Astrid’s rapid change of expressions.

“You’re joking,” she said incredulously, and took the amulet and letter from Kivik. “What’s this?”

“The letter explains it all, the amulet is for expenses.”

Astrid stared at her. “By Sithis, you’re not joking. To kill the Emperor of Tamriel…” she murmured, “the Dark Brotherhood hasn't done such a thing since the assassination of Pelagius. As a matter of fact, no one has dared assassinate an Emperor of Tamriel since the murder of Uriel Septim, and that was two hundred years ago…”

“Surely the Night Mother wouldn't misdirect us?” Kivik asked cautiously. 

“No, she certainly wouldn't. And… for whatever reason, she chose to relay Motierre's information to you. I don't know exactly what's going on here, if you're the Listener, or this is some fluke, or what. But what we now have before us…”

“So we'll accept the contract?” 

“You're damn right we'll accept it,” Astrid said, seeming to make up her mind. “If we pull this off, the Dark Brotherhood will know a fear and respect we haven't seen in centuries. You think I'd abandon an opportunity to lead my family to glory? But this is all so much to take in. I need time to read the letter, and figure out where we go from here. And this amulet. Hmmm…”

“What are you thinking?” 

“I'm thinking we need that amulet appraised. I want to know where it came from, how much it's worth, and if we can actually get away with selling it. And there's only one man who can give us what we need—Delvin Mallory. You said you work with the Guild, you must know him?” she glanced at Kivik for confirmation, and Kivik nodded. “Yes. Good. Give me the letter, and bring Mallory the amulet. Find out everything you can, and sell it if he's willing. He'll offer a letter of credit—that's fine. Delvin Mallory and the Dark Brotherhood have… history. He can be trusted.”

She handed the amulet back to Kivik, who wrapped it again in its cloth and placed it in an inner pocket. It looked like she was never going to get that vacation. Another day on the road, and Mercer would probably still be upset over Kivik’s little adventure with the Black-Briars by the time she returned. Kivik was really starting to regret her impulsive robbery of Maven, but there was nothing she could do about it now. Nor could she avoid the Guild any longer. If they were really going to kill the Emperor, that had to take precedence over Kivik’s own personal troubles.

Without so much as a nap, Kivik found herself once more traveling the long road to Riften. She decided to enter the Ragged Flagon via the ratway, just to decrease her odds of running into Mercer as long as she could, and to her surprise, it worked.

She found Delvin Mallory sitting at his usual table. He didn’t look pleased to see her.

“I’m surprised to see you back so soon,” he said grimly. “Thought you’d be staying away, after what you did, and it would be wise if you had. Old Mercer’s not very happy with you, you know.”

“I know,” Kivik said miserably. “And I would have stayed away longer if I could, believe me, but I’m not here on Guild business, actually. The Dark Brotherhood requires your… services.”

Delvin sat up straighter, suddenly all ears. “Oh. Oh, I see. I knew you were talking about working with them, but I didn’t know that you had gone and joined. Well now, how is Astrid doing these days? Tell her to stop by sometime. We can have a drink. Catch up. Ah, but we can discuss that later, yeah? What does the Brotherhood need?”

“What can you tell me about this?” she said, handing Mallory the amulet.

“Let's see… where oh where did you get this?” he turned the amulet over in his hands, then looked up at her sharply. “Don't answer—I don't want to know. This is an amulet of the Emperor's Elder Council. Specially crafted for each member. Worth a small fortune. Ain't something you'd give up lightly. Look, it ain't my business to tell the Dark Brotherhood its business, but if you killed a member of the Elder Council, you'd better belie-”

“Will you buy it?” 

“Buy it? This? An Elder Council amulet? Oh yes. Oh yes, indeed. Wait just one moment,” he said, scribbling something on a piece of parchment, “here. It's a letter of credit. Usable, by Astrid only, for any service or item I can provide. As per our standard arrangement. You bring that back to your lovely mistress. With my regards.”

Kivik thanked him, and was almost out of the Flagon when she felt a hand on her shoulder, and turned, wincing, to see Mercer Frey glaring at her.

“Don’t you go scuttling away so quickly,” he said sternly. “I have a job for you.”


	8. Chapter 8

Kivik knew she wouldn’t be able to get out of this, so she followed Mercer into the cistern without protest. He said nothing, and Kivik wondered what Brynjolf had told him in his attempt to smooth things over. Whatever it was, it had clearly worked to some degree if Mercer was giving her a job rather than throwing her out of the Guild forever, but she hoped he hadn’t mentioned her… personal issues with Maven.

Mercer led her to a table where Brynjolf was waiting, and glared at her. Kivik took this as an instruction to sit down, and sat, exchanging a nervous glance with Brynjolf.

“News of your little… ventures all around Riften,” Mercer began. “Ordinarily you would be out of the Guild, but Brynjolf here seems to be pretty convinced that you belong. Says it was an honest mistake. He also made the very interesting point that robbing Maven Black-Briar and not getting caught demonstrated your skill. So we’re going to see if he was right about you, and put that skill to the test. This is an important job, so if you mess it up…”

“Wait a moment, you're not talking about Goldenglow, are you?” Brynjolf said incredulously. “Even our little Vex couldn't get in!”

Mercer continued as if he hadn’t heard him “Goldenglow Estate is critically important to one of our largest clients. However, the owner has suddenly decided to take matters into his own hands and shut us out. He needs to be taught a lesson.”

“Goldenglow Estate is a bee farm; they raise the wretched little things for honey,” Brynjolf explained. “It's owned by some smart-mouth wood elf named Aringoth. Goldenglow brought in a mountain of gold for the Guild. You could almost call it our sweetest deal. Then out of the clear blue, Aringoth stops sending us our cut. So we send in Vex and find out he's hired a bunch of mercenaries to guard the place.”

“Mercenaries? Not Riften guards?” Kivik asked. 

“Aye. Aringoth sent the city guard packing and fortified the entire island. In fact, Vex barely made it out of there alive.”

“So what’s the job? What do you want me to do?” 

Mercer, who had been watching quietly, shook his head. “Not you. Both of you.”

Brynjolf stared at him. “What?”

“You think I would risk the success of a job like this by sending a recruit who has been proven to act without thinking, alone? This is a test of Kivik’s merit, yes, but it’s also a job, and you’re the one who brought her into the Guild, Brynjolf. You’re the one who insisted she be given another chance. So _you_ are going with her and you are _both_ going to prove to me that your judgement is sound. Now, you can fill her in with the rest of the details on the way.” Mercer turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Kivik and Brynjolf staring after him.

“Brynjolf, I am so sorry for getting you into this mess,” Kivik said after a moment.

“It’s alright, lass,” he replied tiredly. “Mercer’s a good man, you know. I think all the bad luck we’ve had lately is getting to him, that’s all. Once we pull off this job I’m sure he’ll come around.”

“Right. The job. You’d better explain the details, then,” she said, standing up and gathering her gear.

“The plan was to teach him a lesson by burning down three of the estate's hives, and clearing out the safe in the main house.”

“What's the catch?” 

“The catch is that we can't burn the whole place to the ground. That _important client_ Mercer mentioned would be furious if you did,” Brynjolf said, looking at Kivik pointedly.

“Makes sense,” she replied. 

“Aye,” Brynjolf continued. “the last thing we want to be doing is crossing our clients.”

Kivik rolled her eyes. “I get it. What should we do about Aringoth?” 

“Maven prefers that Aringoth remains alive, but if he tries to stop us from getting the job done, we kill him. The Guild has a lot riding on this.”

“Wait. _Maven Black-Briar_ is the influential client?” 

Brynjolf eyed her warily. “Who else? We had an arrangement with Maven. We kept an eye on Goldenglow Estate to make sure the honey kept flowing. If the workers had a dispute, we'd rough them up. If competitors tried to buy honey from Aringoth, we'd steal the shipments. In return, Maven allowed us to extort Aringoth and bring in a huge payout.”

 _Of course,_ Kivik thought. _Mercer suspects what I did wasn’t just an “honest mistake”. He’s not just testing my skills, he’s testing me by making me do a job_ for _Maven. And if I don’t do it right, that’s as good as admitting I robbed her intentionally._

“So, how are we supposed to get into the place with all those mercenaries?” Kivik asked, changing the topic.

“Good question. We should probably talk to Vex before we go, see if she has any advice.”

Kivik nodded. She found Vex sitting at the bar, looking annoyed. _Great. Another person here who doesn’t like me._

“Hello,” she said awkwardly, sitting down. “I heard you had the Goldenglow jo-”

“I want to make one thing perfectly clear. I'm the best infiltrator this rathole of a Guild's got, so if you think you're here to replace me, you're dead wrong,” Vex snapped.

“I- of course. I was just hoping you could give me some advice. I heard you ran into trouble at Goldenglow.” 

“Hmph, yeah I did. That wood elf… he's a lot smarter than I expected. Can you believe that fetcher had more than tripled the guard? There must be eight of them in there. It was like he was daring us to come and get him.”

“Any tips to get me in there?” Kivik asked cautiously. 

“Well, there's an old sewer tunnel that dumps into the lake on the northwest side of the island. That's how I slipped in there. Should still be unguarded.”

“Thank you,” Kivik said, taking her leave.

“Good luck. You’ll need it.”

“So what brought you back here so soon?” Brynjolf asked as they made their way through the busy streets of Riften.

“Dark Brotherhood business.”

Brynjolf looked at her sharply. “So you did it, then? You joined the Dark Brotherhood?”

“I did,” Kivik sighed, “and believe it or not, it’s even more of a mess than this. The business I came here on… it’s… big.”

“How big?”

“I shouldn’t...” Kivik began, “I don’t know if I should tell you exactly what it is, right now. Let’s just say it’s… political.”

Brynjolf raised an eyebrow. “Political? I thought the Brotherhood was handling petty grudges these days, from what Sapphire told me. Down on their luck, like us?”

“They were. But things changed, and now we have this contract, and it’s… insane, really. Not to mention exhausting. I’ve been running back and forth across Skyrim for days. But if we pull it off, you certainly won’t hear any more stories about the Dark Brotherhood being down on its luck.”

“Well, next time I hear of a high-profile politically motivated assassination, I’ll assume it was your work,” Brynjold smiled, then grew serious. “Are you sure you’re not in over your head though, lass? I’d hate to lose our most promising recruit to an angry mob should this… business not go well.”

“It might be a little challenging juggling that job with my Thieves Guild business,” Kivik admitted, “but I’ve got it under control.”

Brynjolf looked about as convinced by this as Lydia had been, but let it go. 

Before long, they were in sight of Goldenglow Estate. Kivik could see the small collection of bee houses that lined one side of the island, and the large building dominating the other side. More importantly, she could see the mercenaries pacing back and forth along the perimeter of the island. Kivik was halfway through a plan to sneak past them at just the right moment when she realized the more pressing problem before them.

“Brynjolf,” she said, “are we going to _swim_ to that island?”

Brynjolf stared at her blankly. Clearly he hadn’t considered the implications of the estate being on an island up to this point either. “I don’t suppose you asked Vex about that, lass?” he murmured.

They stared at each other, then at the water between them and the island. Finally Kivik shrugged and unbuckled her sword from her belt, holding it and her other weapons above her head as she stepped into the water. Brynjolf followed suit, pulling a frankly alarming amount of knives from various pockets.

“I thought you were a thief,” Kivik remarked. “That’s an awful lot of weaponry for thievery.”

“It never hurts to be prepared.”

Fortunately, the lake turned out to not be too deep, and the pair were able to make it across to the island easily enough. Kivik silently pointed out the cellar entrance that Vex had mentioned, and Brynjolf followed her down the ladder and into the sewer. 

They found themselves in a cramped and dim tunnel, and Kivik could hear the distinctive scuttling sound of skeevers. Moments later, two skeevers rounded a corner ahead of them and stared at Kivik, sniffing. With two swift arrows, Kivik dispatched the skeevers and she and Brynjolf crept onward.

Although Vex was correct about the sewer not being guarded, it was filled with a surprising number of tripwires, which Kivik and Brynjolf managed to narrowly avoid until they were very near their exit from the sewer. Kivik saw the wire too late, and watched helplessly as a spiked iron contraption swung down from the ceiling, smashing into Brynjolf and sending him flying against the wall. He slumped against the wall, and for a single horrified moment, Kivik thought that the trap had caught him in the skull, but as she dropped her weapons, crouching beside him, she saw that he was awake, and cradling his left arm.

“I think **—** ” he said weakly, “I think it’s broken, lass.”

“It’s alright,” Kivik said quickly, taking hold of his arm gently.

“I should have seen that damn wire.”

“It’s alright,” Kivik said again, “it’s dark in here. I didn’t see it either until it was too late. Hold on.”

“You have to-” Brynjolf began, but stopped in amazement as a golden light began to shine from Kivik’s hands.

Kivik closed her eyes and concentrated on the broken arm, letting the healing light flow from her hands and repair the broken bone. Brynjolf stared, speechless, as the blood which had been soaking his sleeve vanished, and the pain in his arm disappeared. In a few moments, Kivik sat down, exhausted, but Brynjolf’s arm was as good as new. He raised the arm and stretched it in amazement while Kivik smiled tiredly. 

“It’s a good spell, isn’t it?” 

“ _Where_ did you learn to do _that_ , lass?”

“My daughter has a tendency to get herself into trouble. A tendency which I share, as I’m sure you’ve noticed. I used to rely on potions for healing, but… there are times when a spell is much more effective. I pestered the court wizard in Whiterun until he taught me, if you must know.”

Brynjolf continued staring at her.

“It’s not that hard. Really!” she said, helping him up. “But I need to recharge before I could do it again, so watch where you’re going, okay?”

Looking carefully at the path ahead of them, they continued through the sewers in silence until they came to a ladder leading up. Climbing the ladder, Kivik found herself standing in the open air, next to a door leading into the main house. She signalled to Brynjolf and he followed, pulling a lockpick from his pocket and trying the door. Soon he had the door open, and the two were creeping through and into an empty hallway.

“The safe will most likely be in the basement,” Brynjolf whispered. “We can shake Aringoth down for the key, or just try our luck with the lock. Your call, lass.”

“Let’s head for the basement,” Kivik whispered back. “Between the two of us I’m sure we can get the safe open.”

Brynjolf nodded, and they crept along the hallway, searching for a staircase heading down.

Finally they found one. Moving quietly down the steps, Kivik stopped short when she saw the two mercenaries standing at the bottom.

She looked at Brynjolf, raising her eyebrows. _Should we try to get past without them noticing?_

He shook his head minutely. _Not a chance._

Kivik pulled a small vial from her bag, and Brynjolf looked at her questioningly. She knew he was wondering whether the potion would make the pair invisible, and shook her head, taking an arrow from her quiver and applying the contents of the vial to its tip. Brynjolf’s eyes widened slightly, but he nodded. He reached for his sword. _Good. The element of surprise will only last so long._

Kivik’s poison worked brilliantly on the first of the two mercenaries. Of course, seeing his friend suddenly drop down dead with an arrow in his back alerted the other to their presence, and he spun around wildly, drawing a sword. Kivik leapt out of the way as he charged at her, and Brynjolf seemed to understand her unspoken plan, engaging the man as Kivik slipped past, readying another arrow.

There was no time for poison, but it wasn't necessary. The impact from Kivik’s shot made the mercenary stumble, giving Brynjolf the opportunity to strike the finishing blow.

“Great teamwork, lass,” Brynjolf said when it was over. 

Kivik was already fishing through the first mercenary’s pockets, looking for spare septims, and possibly **—** _there! **—**_ a key. Keys, in Kivik’s experience, almost always turned out to be useful. This one, which had a small image of a bee on it, surely opened something on the estate.

“Thanks,” she said to Brynjolf. “Is there anything good in that chest?”

“Not much,” he said when he had it open. “What did you put on that arrow?”

“Oh, just a little poison. A few flower and herb extracts.”

“Is that how you deal with your… Brotherhood business?”

“Generally, yes,” she said cautiously, unable to tell what he was thinking.

“Not bad,” he said. “Quick, clean, no chance of them hitting back. Not bad at all, lass.”

“I’m not really one for close range fighting, if I can avoid it,” Kivik explained. “I know it doesn’t seem like it, with the work I do, but I actually am quite concerned with my own safety.”

“You have to be alive to go home to your daughter, is that it?”

“She’s already lost two parents,” Kivik said. “She doesn’t need to lose a third.”

“I didn’t know you had a daughter,” Brynjolf whispered as they continued through the basement. “I suppose you try to keep her out of Riften.”

“No, I love bringing children on my dangerous and illegal ventures,” Kivik laughed. “She lives in Whiterun. My housecarl looks after her while I’m away on… work. Which has been more often than not lately, I’m afraid.”

They fell silent at the sight of another mercenary, but the man didn’t see them and they were able to sneak past without incident. Once they were safely out of earshot, Brynjolf resumed his questioning.

“What’s she like?”

“She’s a funny girl. Tried to keep a skeever as a pet once. Ah, here we are.”

Kivik crouched in front of the safe and began trying to pick the lock. She tried the key she had recovered from the mercenary, but that didn’t work. _And why would he have a key to the safe, anyway,_ she thought, returning to her lockpick.

In a minute, she had the safe open. Inside were the bags of gold that she had expected, but also a small scroll. Kivik handed this to Brynjolf, who read it with a mixture of confusion and alarm.

“What is it?” she asked.

“No time, lass. We need to get out of here.” 

He pocketed the scroll and Kivik stood up, looking for another exit. Finally she spotted a small trapdoor, _which must lead to the same sewer system we came in by_. The door had the same bee image she had seen on the mercenary’s key, and when she tried the key, the door opened easily.

“So what was the scroll?” Kivik asked as they made their way through the sewers.

“A bill of sale. Aringoth sold Goldenglow. I don’t know what that idiot is thinking. He has no idea the extent of Maven’s fury when she gets cut out of a deal, but I’m sure he’ll find out.”

Kivik grimaced. She had almost forgotten this job was for Maven. “Who did he sell it to?”

“I don’t know. The bill of sale doesn’t have the buyer’s name, only an odd symbol. But we’ll look into that later, we still have to hit the hives.”

They took the first upward passage they saw, and luckily it came out on the right side of the island. Kivik could see the field of beehives only a short distance away, but…

She could also hear footsteps. Another mercenary, right above her. There were no shadows between her and the hives, only empty space. There was no way she could reach them undetected.

“Brynjolf,” she hissed, “I’m going to make a run for it.”

“What?”

“I’m going to run for the hives. Hold them off, if you can, I just need a few seconds’ head start. When you see smoke, you run too, and I’ll meet you on the opposite shore. We should be able to lose anyone who follows us in the trees.”

“Are you sure about this, lass?”

“Yes. I can make it. Go.”

Brynjolf burst out of the shadows, yelling, and Kivik sprinted for the beehives. Men were chasing her, but she reached the hives without injury. With a deep breath, she shot a bolt of magical flame from her open hands, engulfing first one hive, and then another, and then a third. As the guards turned their attention to the burning hives, Kivik made one last sprint to the edge of the island and dove into the lake. Behind her she could hear the confused cries of the guards, but she couldn’t tell whether Brynjolf had yet noticed that she had accomplished her goal.

No one appeared to be chasing her, so Kivik sat down with her back against a tree and waited, letting the sun dry her out a little.

Soon, Brynjolf arrived, laughing and shaking water everywhere. No one appeared to be chasing him either.

“Next time, lass, _I’m_ coming up with the plans,” he said.

Kivik nodded solemnly, trying and failing not to laugh at his bedraggled appearance. They returned to the city, still dripping, and Brynjolf went to find Mercer and inform him of their troubling discovery. Kivik decided to sit that one out, and found Sapphire instead, sitting alone at a table in the Flagon.

“I spoke to Maven Black-Briar today,” Sapphire said as soon as Kivik sat down. “She wanted to know whether she could call the Dark Brotherhood on someone whose identity she didn’t know.”

“What?” Kivik asked.

“Apparently Mercer told her she was robbed by someone unaffiliated with our group. She wanted to know if she could make a contract without knowing who she was making a contract on.”

“By the gods,” Kivik groaned. “What did you tell her?”

“I told her of course she could,” Sapphire laughed. “She’s probably performing the Black Sacrament right now, asking the Night Mother to arrange the death of the mysterious person who robbed her. Unfortunately, I forgot to mention that the Night Mother hasn’t spoken to anyone in years,” she smiled.

“Thank you,” Kivik said.

“For what? This is about a mysterious burglar whose identity no one knows, remember?”

“Right. Of course. You know, coincidentally, I happen to have a bottle of Black-Briar reserve here, that I acquired through entirely legal means, of course. It’s quite tasty. Would you care for some?”

Sapphire smiled and held out her empty cup. At the sound of the clinking bottle, Delvin approached and held out a cup as well. Kivik obligingly filled it.

“I’ve got something for you,” he said.

“A job?” Kivik asked.

“No. A note. Courier dropped it off here earlier, from Astrid.”

He handed her a small note, and Kivik recognized the mark of the Dark Brotherhood at the top. This time, the note was slightly longer, but no less cryptic than the last one Kivik had received.

_Come back to Falkreath, and bring the fanciest dress you can find._


	9. Chapter 9

Kivik found Astrid leaning casually against the wall as she had expected, and held out the expensive dress that she had bought for her approval. Astrid smiled, and Kivik saw that she was practically vibrating with delight.  _ What’s going on? _

“Good, you're back. Well, what did Mallory have to say? Is the amulet authentic?” Astrid said, attempting to maintain her nonchalant air and not doing a very good job of it.

“Yes, and specially made for members of the Elder Council,” Kivik said, waving the dress again questioningly. Astrid smiled, but continued to ignore it. 

“The Elder Council… oh, now that explains quite a bit,” she said happily. “Motierre, you naughty, naughty boy. Hiring the Dark Brotherhood to help you rise beyond your station. Delicious!” she seemed to return to the present moment. “Was Mallory willing to buy the amulet?”

“He was. Here's a letter of credit,” Kivik said, and brandished the dress a third time. “Why did you ask me to bring this?”

“Splendid. Then we're ready to begin. Or, more specifically, you're ready to begin,” Astrid said, drawing it out. “After all, you're the one the Night Mother spoke to. Now then. I’m glad you have something nice to wear. Because you're going to a wedding.”

“A wedding?” 

“Well, more like the public reception. It should be a lovely affair. You'll mingle with the guests, eat some cake…” she paused dramatically. “...stab the bride. Oh yes. You've got to kill the bride. At her wedding. And they say romance is dead.”

Kivik laughed. She had never seen Astrid this excited about anything. “Who's the target?” 

“Her name is Vittoria Vici. She oversees the East Empire Company's business holdings in Solitude.”

“Vittoria Vici? Of course! The wedding is all she’s been talking about for months. It’s soon, isn’t it?”

Astrid looked taken aback. “You know her?”

“I’m a Thane of Solitude,” Kivik explained. 

“You are?”

“Don’t worry, I’m not attached to Vittoria. I’m not very attached to anyone in Solitude, really. I’m only a Thane because Elisif is a bit sweet on me.”

“Elisif… the wife of the late High King… has a crush on you?”

“She’s a Jarl in her own right, you know,” Kivik teased, enjoying the look of bafflement on Astrid’s face. “Anyway, back to the job. You want me to kill Vittoria?”

“Right. Yes. Her death will cause an uproar, which is exactly what we want,” Astrid said, regaining her train of thought. “Vici is likely to address her guests frequently, as is the wedding custom. Kill her when she does that, and I promise you a significant bonus.”

“Lovely. Is there anything else I should know?”

“This is a public kill. How you do it is entirely up to you. Arrow to the throat? Knife in the belly? Your choice, so long as it's loud and messy, though I imagine you’ll want to stay out of sight if you want to maintain your position in Solitude. Because of the current political climate, people are going to assume the murder is related to the bad blood between the Legion and Stormcloaks. So if there's a murder at the wedding… not only will it stall the peace process—it will send shockwaves throughout the entire Empire. The Emperor's hand will be forced. He'll have to travel to Skyrim to deal with the aftermath… and he'll find the Dark Brotherhood waiting. Now go. And give my best to the bride.”

Thinking ahead to what would probably end up being a somewhat tense departure from the city, Kivik decided to treat herself and hire a carriage to Solitude. She arrived after dark and headed to the local inn to have some soup and find out as casually as she could how long she had until the wedding. Luckily, the innkeeper was more than happy to gossip, and Kivik discovered that there was still a full day before the wedding with ease. Satisfied, she returned to her home, where she informed her surprised housecarl, truthfully, that she was only in town for the wedding.

She spent the next morning investigating the area where the wedding would be held, trying to put together a plan. And an escape route, should she be seen. As a Thane, she was surely expected to make an appearance at the wedding, so she would also need a private spot to slip on her identity-concealing hood before committing the murder, and to slip it off again afterward and return to the crowd, if possible. She managed to find an out-of-the-way nook that would do the job, and hid her hood behind a loose stone.

Kivik was determined not to leave the city without a good present for Lucia, so she stopped by the blacksmith on her way home. She had been intending to borrow his equipment to make some sort of necklace or ring, but when she saw a lovely little elven dagger on display, she knew Lucia would like that more than any jewelry.  _ It’s about time she had something other than that wooden sword, anyway,  _ Kivik thought as Addvar handed her the dagger. 

She spent the rest of the afternoon in her basement, working on enchanting the dagger. When it finally began to show a faint red glimmer, Kivik turned in early, and enjoyed her first long night of uninterrupted sleep in what felt like ages.

At last, the day of the long-awaited wedding had dawned, and Kivik could feel the anticipation buzzing through the city. Vittoria had been talking about the festivities for months, and everyone in town was excited for the spectacle.  _ They have no idea what a spectacle they’re going to get. _

Kivik strolled down the street, her Brotherhood armor hidden under the fancy dress, and made a point of stopping to chat with almost everyone she encountered. Everyone was in high spirits, and greeted her with enthusiasm.

“A marriage of both love and political advantage. A rare thing indeed!” Jarl Elisif said, approaching Kivik and smiling.

“Yes… very rare,” Kivik said awkwardly. “Are you enjoying the festivities, Jarl?”

“Oh yes. It’s a fine day with you around. I just hope things remain calm. Wine gets drunk, tempers flare. This may be a joyous celebration, but it's shadowed by a lot of animosity.”

“Of course.”

“Were you at the ceremony early, in the temple of the Divines?” Elisif continued. “The temple here in Solitude is lovely, but I don’t find it as beautiful as the temple in Markarth. Tell me,” she paused, glanding at Kivik, “have you visited the temple of Dibella?”

Kivik blushed. “I have. I am a friend of the priestesses there, actually.”

Now it was Elisif’s turn to blush. “Oh,” she said. “I see.”

_ Now is really not the time to be having this conversation, _ Kivik thought desperately, trying to come up with a way to excuse herself politely, and more importantly, non-suspiciously.

“Have you spoken to the groom’s family yet?” she asked. “They’re Stormcloaks, but this wedding might be your chance to talk some sense into them.”

“That’s an excellent point. I should at least try speaking to them,” Elisif agreed. “It was nice speaking with you.”

Elisif moved away to talk with the Snow-Shod family, and Kivik breathed a sigh of relief. Deciding it was best to avoid any further conversation, she slipped away and found the nook where she had hidden her hood. She quickly pulled her fine dress off and put it in the hiding place behind the stone, pulling the hood over her head. Within moments, she was unrecognizable, with a mask covering all but her eyes, and her red and black armor a stark contrast from the soft green dress she had been wearing.

She stepped out onto a balcony at the back of the small square, and watched as Vittoria and her new husband, Asgeir climbed onto another balcony opposite her. It was time.

“Honored guests,” Vittoria began, and Kivik prepared her arrow. “I just wanted to take this time to thank you all for being here. To thank you for sharing this wonderfully happy day with myself, and my new husband.You have all helped make this a truly extraordinary wedding. All of my dreams have—”

Kivik’s arrow had found its target, and as Vittoria fell, chaos erupted in the square below. Kivik dashed down the stairs, pulling off her hood, and hurriedly tugged her dress back on over the armor. She slipped back into the screaming crows, trying to blend in. 

“It was the Empire killed her! I know it! They killed her so they can blame it on the Stormcloaks!” the groom’s father was yelling.

“Elisif!” Kivik cried, catching the Jarl’s arm. “It was so fast! I—what happened?” she said in feigned horror, hoping Elisif hadn’t noticed her brief absence.

“The Emperor’s cousin is dead! This is a disaster!” Elisif said, and Kivik knew she was safe. If the Jarl believed her to be innocent, no one would say otherwise. 

“It’s shocking. Truly shocking,” Kivik said. “And you even said that something might happen, but of course no one expected  _ this _ !”

“I was afraid of a drunken brawl between the families, but a murder? Who could do such a thing?”

“Who indeed?” Kivik asked, with all the appearance of concern. “My Jarl, can I escort you back to the palace? It is clearly not safe here. There are murderers about.”

She led Elisif back to the palace, and gravely informed the steward of what had happened. The news was spreading rapidly through the city, and by the time Kivik left the palace, it seemed that everyone in Solitude was talking about the horrifying murder. No one was talking about her, however. In fact, the identity of the murderer did not seem to be anyone’s main concern, rather, it was who had hired the killer that was the topic of conversation. Speculation ranged from the groom’s strongly anti-Imperial family to a broken-hearted past lover of Vittoria’s. Kivik even heard one person wondering whether the murder had been arranged by the groom himself. But even in the great variety of opinions, no one in the city was even approaching the truth.

Pleased with her work, Kivik returned home, where she informed her housecarl that the shock had overwhelmed her and she would be leaving the city in the morning. Jordis nodded sagely when Kivik told her that she felt she needed to be with her family, and offered no objections to Kivik’s departure.

Settling into her comfortable bed for her second solid night of sleep in a row, Kivik basked in the glorious feeling of a job well done, a crime gotten away with.  _ I may not be exactly the child my parents wanted,  _ she thought,  _ but I  _ am _ good at my work. _


	10. Chapter 10

Lucia loved her enchanted dagger, of course. She spent countless hours trying it out on the stuffed mannequin in her room, and begging Lydia to teach her to twirl it around in her hand. More than a week had passed since the wedding in Solitude, and Kivik had received no word from either Astrid or Mercer, and took the opportunity to have that vacation she had been longing for, though a small part of her wondered whether she should return to the sanctuary and check in.

She played tag with Lucia and her friends, helped Adrienne around the forge, and even bothered the grouchy old wizard up at Dragonsreach until he let her use his enchanting table. Kivik was starting to wonder whether both the Guild and the Brotherhood had forgotten about her entirely.

Her friends, Mara bless them, were delighted to have her back, and filled with curiosity about the “Thane business” that had kept her away. She was telling Arcadia and Carlotta about the shocking murder at the wedding, omitting the part where she had been the one committing the murder, when someone familiar strolled into the Bannered Mare and approached the table where Kivik was sitting with her friends.

“What a horrible affair,” Sapphire said, pulling up a chair. “Murder at a wedding? Who could do such a thing?”

“Sapphire?” Kivik stammered. “What are you doing here?”

“I came to find you, actually. Important business. But it can wait. Please, tell me more about this murder.”

“Carlotta, Arcadia, this is Sapphire,” Kivik said, trying to make the introduction seem natural, “An associate of mine, from Riften.”

“Delighted to meet you,” Carlotta said. “I didn’t know you’d been all the way to Riften, Kivik!”

“Um, yes, well, it’s important to see where each Jarl stands on this conflict, you know. I’ve been travelling all over, ah, collecting opinions.”

“And… Sapphire, was it? What do you do in Riften?” Carlotta asked warmly.

Sapphire glanced at Kivik. “I… I work for the Black-Briar family,” she said. “They’re very influential in Riften. In fact, I’m here on business for the… Black-Briar family. We need Kivik’s assistance in a… business matter. She’s very well-connected, you know.”

“Oh yes, our Kivik is very busy,” Arcadia agreed. “Well, if you two have business to discuss, we won’t keep you. Carlotta, why don’t you come back to the shop with me and I’ll pack up those potions you wanted.”

The two women took their leave, and Sapphire pulled her chair closer to Kivik’s.

“So, your friends in Whiterun don’t know what you do?” she asked softly. Kivik shook her head. “And that wedding in Solitude… that _was_ you, wasn’t it?”

“It was me,” Kivik sighed. “And a damn good job at that. And no, my friends here don’t know what I do. They know me as a dragon-killer and a Thane. Arcadia and I do alchemy work together. Carlotta’s daughter and mine are close friends.”

Sapphire raised her eyebrows at ‘dragon-killer’ and ‘daughter’. “And here I only knew you as a thief and an assassin,” she said wryly. “You’ve killed a dragon?”

“A few, actually. But that’s not important. What’s this business you’ve come here on? Please tell me it’s not actually for the Black-Briars.”

“I’m afraid it is,” Sapphire sighed. “One of Maven’s competitors in the mead business is getting a bit too serious of competition for her tastes. She wants the Guild to take down the owner of the meadery so it can be converted into the Black-Briar meadery of Whiterun. Mercer was just going to have you do it, but Brynjolf talked him into sending me as well.”  
“To keep an eye on me?” Kivik asked. “Don’t worry. I learned my lesson about attacking Maven too early. I’m playing the long game now. No harm in building her up a bit before destroying her, right? Gives her farther to fall. So what’s the plan?”

“We actually have a contact here in Whiterun who’s supposed to fill us in on the details. We should see him here in the inn, anytime.”

“Great. I suppose we should just have a few drinks and wait for this contact, then.”

Sapphire smiled, and Kivik fetched a couple of meads, scaring the bard out of her way with a glare.

“Who’s that?” Sapphire asked when Kivik returned.

“Oh, that’s Mikael, the town nuisance. He’s dead frightened of me ever since the time I beat him up for bothering Carlotta. I guess he heard the rumors about the dragon thing, and doesn’t want to risk getting on my bad side again. Annoying, but harmless really.”

“You beat him up?” Sapphire asked, amused.

“Yeah. Her, too,” Kivik said, gesturing at Uthgerd, sitting in the corner. “But that was just a friendly brawl. On a bet. I won a hundred septims that day.”

“Well, you certainly do have more to you than meets the eye,” Sapphire laughed, then turned to look as a man entered the inn. “I think that’s our contact.”  
Sapphire waved and the man came over and sat down at their table. 

“Mallus Maccius?” Sapphire asked, and the man nodded.

“I'm going to keep this short 'cause we've got a lot to do,” he said. “Honningbrew's owner, Sabjorn, is holding a tasting for Whiterun's Captain of the Guard tomorrow, and we're going to poison the mead.”

“Alright, simple enough. You have the poison?” Kivik asked.

“No, no. That's the beauty of the whole plan. We're going to get Sabjorn to give it to us. The meadery has quite a pest problem and the whole city knows about it. Pest poison and mead don't mix well, you know what I mean?”

“How do we fit in?” 

“You're going to happen by and lend poor old Sabjorn a helping hand. He's going to give you the poison to use on the pests, but you're also going to dump it into the brewing vat.”

“Clever,” Sapphire said. 

“Maven and I spent weeks planning this. All we need is someone like you to get in there and get it done.”

“How do we get to the brewing vats?” 

“Both of the buildings are connected by tunnels made by the pests infesting the meadery. There's an entrance to it in the basement storeroom of the warehouse that used to be boarded over. I've already removed the boards so the meadery would get infested. That's where you should start.”

“Why bother poisoning the nest for Sabjorn?” Kivik asked.

“Once Sabjorn is out of the way, Maven has plans for this place. One way or another, we don't want the pests coming back. Consider it just more of the dirty work. I did my part getting them in there, now you need to clear them out.”

Kivik nodded. “And the tasting is tomorrow? What time?”

“It’ll be in the afternoon, so you have all morning to poison the mead. I suggest you start early, though. The infestation is… quite severe.”

_Great. An entire morning spent crawling through skeever tunnels. And to think last week I was attending a glamorous wedding in the city._

Sapphire reserved a room at the inn for the night, and Kivik returned home after arranging to meet her at the city gates at dawn. She made up her mind to return to the sanctuary and report back to Astrid about the wedding as soon as she had settled this meadery business. It seemed Kivik’s vacation was at an end.

Kivik woke Lucia up before she left for a sleepy goodbye, and promised to bring her something from her travels.

“Can I have a dragon?” she mumbled, still mostly asleep.

“What about a dragon scale?” Kivik asked. “You could carve it into something pretty.”

“Okay,” Lucia said happily, and snuggled back under her covers.

Kivik patted her gently on the head and quietly slipped out of the house, waving to Sapphire who was already waiting by the city gate. They walked down the short road to the meadery as the sun began to rise, and were knocking on Sabjorn’s door before it was fully above the horizon. A short, frazzled looking man opened the door.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“We heard about your pest problem, and thought you could use a hand getting rid of them,” Kivik explained quickly.

"Oh really? And I don't suppose you'd just do it out of the kindness of your heart, would you? I hope you're not expecting to get paid until the job's done,” he sneered.

“You'd better, or I yell ‘skeever’,” Sapphire threatened. Kivik shot her a look, but she ignored it. 

“Okay, okay,” Sabjorn said quickly, pulling some gold septims from his pocket. “No need to make rash decisions. Here's half. You get the rest when the job's done. My only demand is that these vermin are permanently eliminated before my reputation is completely destroyed.”

“How do you want us to ‘permanently’ clear the vermin?” Kivik asked, trying to get back on track. 

“I bought some poison. I was going to have my lazy, good-for-nothing assistant Mallus handle it, but he seems to have vanished. If you plant this in the vermin's nest, it should stop them from ever coming back,” he said, handing Kivik a bottle.

“You've got a deal,” she said, stowing the bottle away. 

“Don't come back until every one of those things are dead.”

They were able to enter the skeevers’ tunnels without trouble, but once inside, the trouble found them quickly.

“What in Oblivion is wrong with these skeevers?!” Kivik shrieked, attempting to hit one with her sword. “ _Why won’t they die?!_ ”

“I don’t think these are normal skeevers!” Sapphire shrieked back as another one leapt directly for her face.

“I don’t understand,” Kivik said after decapitating the creature. “They look normal. Why are they so strong?”  
“Maybe they’ve been drinking the mead,” Sapphire shrugged.

“How would that change anything?”

“I don’t know.”

“Something doesn’t feel right here,” Kivik said as they pressed on. “I can’t put my finger on it, but I get the feeling that there’s something we don’t know.”

“Well there’s clearly _something_ going on,” Sapphire said, impaling one of the vicious skeevers. “But I doubt it’s anything sinister. Mallus has probably been feeding them, you know that makes them bolder.”

“Watch out!” Kivik cried, flinging out her arm to stop Sapphire from stepping directly onto a large bear trap.

“Thank you,” Sapphire said, stepping gingerly around the trap. “That was close.”

“Brynjolf got hit by a trap at Goldenglow and broke his arm,” Kivik explained. “I’ve been watching where I step a lot more carefully since then.”

“He broke his arm?” Sapphire said incredulously.

“Well, only for about a minute. I was able to fix it with a spell. But I don’t think even the best magic could put your foot back on if one of these things took it off.”

Sapphire nodded grimly, and they continued cautiously down the narrow passage. Suddenly Kivik could hear what she was certain was a human voice ahead.

“I think we’re close to the entrance to the boilery,” she whispered. 

“We still have to find the nest,” Sapphire whispered back.

There was a scuttling, and another of the strangely vicious skeevers sprang at them from around a corner. Kivik managed to kill it, but another was right behind it, and another behind that. The human voice drew nearer, and Kivik wondered if Maccius had decided to show up and help.

But it wasn’t their contact who turned the corner. Instead, a shirtless old man appeared, encrusted with dirt and skeever droppings, and began shooting powerful bolts of lightning at Kivik and Sapphire. _What in Oblivion?_

“You handle the skeevers,” Kivik shouted over the chaos. “I’ll take care of the wizard.”

She jumped over the skeever in front of her and ran at the man, hoping to break his concentration and interrupt the lightning he was sending at Sapphire, but all she accomplished was drawing his attention to herself. She grimaced as the lightning hit her, but continued to advance, thanking Sithis for the enchantments woven into her armor. They couldn’t deflect the lightning entirely, but they were absorbing the worst of it. When the man was finally in range, Kivik struck out with her sword, and he staggered backward, losing control of his magic. This moment was all Kivik needed, and she struck again. Behind her, she heard Sapphire battling the skeevers. Lightning began to flicker in the man’s hand again, but died a moment later when Kivik plunged her blade into his unprotected chest. 

She turned, and saw that Sapphire had defeated both skeevers as well.

“What was that?” Sapphire demanded.

“I have no idea,” Kivik said, pressing a hand to her side, which had been wounded somehow.

They looked cautiously into the large chamber they now stood at the entrance of, but no more skeevers or strange shirtless wizards emerged from the shadows. Across the chamber, Kivik saw a table and chair, and what must be the skeevers’ nest.

As Kivik applied the poison to the nest, Sapphire picked up a book that was resting on the table and began paging through it.

“Listen to this,” she said, “‘as my enemy grows complacent and weak, as they forget Hamelyn and his utter brilliance, I build my army… thanks to Sabjorn's unwitting assistance, my legion grows stronger every day… I will bury Whiterun and watch Winterhold burn. And when they experience the fury I've unleashed upon them, when my progeny are gnawing the flesh from their bones, they will come begging and groveling at my feet. But there will be no mercy, no quarter and no leniency. And I will laugh and I will dance and I will rejoice over their mangled, broken corpses.’ Dancing over mangled corpses? Building an army of skeevers? This Hamelyn was quite an… interesting character.”

Kivik examined the book. “Bizarre,” she said. “Of all the ways to take revenge, I don’t think ‘army of skeevers’ would be my first choice.”

Sapphire laughed, and pocketed the journal. “I’m showing this to everyone we know,” she said. “They need to know we saved them from certain death at the hands of the Skeever King.”

They found the entrance to the boilery and crept inside. Sapphire lifted the lid off of the large vat of mead, and Kivik poured the remaining contents of the poison bottle inside. With this done, they returned to Sabjorn just in time to find the commander of Whiterun’s guard preparing for his tasting. Kivik noted Sabjorn’s worried look, and saw Maccius had returned to the meadery and was waiting nearby.

“Well, Sabjorn,” the commander said as Kivik and Sapphire entered. “Now that you've taken care of your little pest problem, how about I get a taste of some of your mead?”

“Help yourself, milord. It's my finest brew yet... I call it Honningbrew Reserve. I think you'll find it quite pleasing to your palate.” Sabjorn replied, and gestured to Maccius, who produced a cup.

“Oh come now, this is mead... not some wine to be sipped and savored,” the commander said as Maccius handed him the cup. He took an enthusiastic sip, then spat it back out. “By the Eight?! What... what's in this?” he cried.

“I—I don't know. What's wrong?” Sabjorn said nervously.

“You assured me this place was clean!” the commander bellowed. “I'll see—see to it that you remain in irons for the rest of your days!”

“No, please! I don't understand—”

“Silence, idiot! I should have known better... to trust this place after it's been riddled with filth.”

“I beg you—please. This is not what it seems!” Sabjorn cried piteously.

“You... you're in charge here until I can sort this all out,” the commander said, pointing at Maccius.

“It will be my pleasure,” Maccius replied with a smile.

“And you... you're coming with me to Dragonsreach. We'll see how quickly your memory clears in the city's prisons. Now move.”

The commander escorted Sabjorn out over his very vocal protests, and Maccius smiled at the door closed behind them. 

“I don't think that could have gone any better,” he said happily. “Anything else you need before you head back to Riften?”

“I need to get a look at Sabjorn's books,” Sapphire replied, and Maccius nodded, fishing a key from his pocket.

”So, Maven wants to hunt down Sabjorn's private partner, huh? You're welcome to take a look around Sabjorn's office. He keeps most of his papers stashed in his desk. Here, this should help.”

“You never mentioned that lunatic living in the tunnels,” Kivik said while Sapphire searched Sabjorn’s records. 

“I thought it would be better to leave some of the details out of our previous discussion,” Maccius replied, and Kivik rolled her eyes. “Didn't want to risk you walking away from the job. Besides, you've done Maven a favor getting rid of him and saved me from wasting coin hiring someone else to do it later.”

Luckily Sapphire returned before Kivik could say anything foolish, waving a note.

“I think I’ve got something,” she said. 

Kivik examined the piece of paper. “That’s the same mark we saw at Goldenglow.”

“Strange. Let’s take it back to Riften, see what Mercer thinks.”

“You go,” Kivik said. “I have to go back to the Sanctuary. Unfinished business.”

Sapphire looked at her curiously. “Unfinished? But I thought that… business… was a success?”

Kivik sighed. “It was. But I need to check in, discuss the job, you know. Besides, I haven’t been paid yet.”

“Right. Well, I’ll expect you in Riften soon,” Sapphire said, smiling.

“I’ll be back as soon as I can,” Kivik said, and thought of the similar promise she had made to Lucia that morning. 

Perhaps Lydia had been right. Running back and forth across Skyrim, working for both the Thieves Guild and the Dark Brotherhood, Kivik was barely able to keep track of where she was going and what crimes she was committing on any given day. But Kivik didn’t know, if she had to choose between the two, what her choice would be, or even if she would be able to make one. _I don’t have to choose,_ she thought angrily. _I can handle both._ But the image of Hamelyn, dirty and ragged, living among skeevers and dreaming of a revenge that would never come, wouldn’t leave her mind.


	11. Chapter 11

“Ha ha! The news is everywhere!” Astrid cried, clapping Kivik on the back as she entered the sanctuary. “Vittoria Vici, the Emperor's cousin, butchered at her own wedding! Well done! Let's see his eminence try to ignore _this_.”

“It was truly one of the more… interesting weddings I have ever attended,” Kivik said.

“With Vici's murder, you've started us down a path the Dark Brotherhood hasn't traveled in centuries,” Astrid said excitedly, “the assassination of an Emperor! And now, your reward. A unique spell to summon a legend of the Dark Brotherhood. His soul serves us now in death, as his body once did in life. Ah, and of course, a bonus, for killing Vici while she addressed her guests, as instructed. Gold… simple and pure. Spend it as you will. Now then. Time to proceed to the next stage of the plan.

“With the Emperor's arrival in Skyrim now a certainty, his security service, the Penitus Oculatus, will need to begin its preparations immediately. Security is being handled by a Commander Maro. We have devised a plan to break the man, and in doing so, cripple the Emperor's protection. You are to slay the commander's son, Gaius Maro, and once he is dead, plant false evidence on his body implicating him in a plot to kill the Emperor.”

“I understand. Gaius Maro will die.” Kivik accepted the folded letter that Astrid held out to her.

“He is set to leave the Penitus Oculatus outpost at Dragon Bridge, and inspect the security of each city in Skyrim,” Astrid continued. "Go there now. Observe Gaius Maro's departure, and follow him. Waylay him in one of the cities, and send his soul to Sithis. Once he's dead, plant the incriminating letter on his body, and let fate take care of the rest. Oh, and one final thing…”

“Yes?” 

“To earn your bonus, do not kill Gaius Maro in Dragon Bridge, or on the road. Kill him in one of the other major cities he'll be visiting. There, the body will be discovered quickly, as will the letter implicating Gaius Maro in the plot to assassinate the Emperor. Do that, and I’ll grant you a rather unique bonus. It is a special token, to be given to Olava the Feeble, in Whiterun, a powerful seer. The token entitles you to a reading of your future. It's an opportunity one should not pass up.”

“Olava’s a seer?”

“Yes, and a dear friend.”

“Do you know Gaius Maro's schedule?” 

“No, so your best plan is to follow him after he leaves Dragon Bridge. However, there is one other option… we know there's an actual written travel schedule, somewhere in the Penitus Oculatus outpost. Securing that would, obviously, be most beneficial…”

“Right,” Kivik nodded. “I guess I’m on my way to Dragon Bridge, then.”

“Allow me to congratulate you again on the Vici wedding. That was truly excellent work,” Astrid said warmly, and Kivik smiled as she once again started for the road.

It seemed to Kivik that the bridge at Dragon Bridge was much too large for the town. ‘Town’ was actually a generous term, and ‘bridge’ didn’t come close to capturing the colossal, intricately carved stone structure that Kivik stared up at.

Unfortunately, the very prominent bridge and rocky terrain on either side of it made it very difficult to approach the outpost without being seen. Kivik examined the steep cliffs to either side of the crossing, but decided against risking that treacherous water. Instead, she walked across the stone bridge as casually as she could, then walked straight past the outpost as if she was just a traveller passing through. When she thought she was out of sight, Kivik doubled back, and crouched in the shadow behind a building to listen to the conversation of the two men standing in the middle of the road.

“I understand, but you're being paranoid. I'm inspecting security, not charging off into battle. There's not a lot that can go wrong,” said the younger of the two. _That must be the son. My target._

“Son, when the Emperor's safety is concerned, anything could go wrong,” the older man said, confirming Kivik’s assumptions. “Off with you, now. And good travels.”

“Farewell, father. I'll return as soon as I'm able.”

“Well, this is it, then,” a woman said, approaching the father and son. “Look after yourself, Gaius. You're doing your duty, and I'm proud of you. But you'd better come back to me. You hear?”

“Oh, Faida. I may travel alone, but you know I carry you always in my heart. I'll see you soon.”

Gaius started off across the bridge, and Kivik ducked back out of sight as the older man, who must be Commander Maro, turned around and headed for the building she was hiding behind. Gaius’s schedule, she knew, would be in the Penitus Oculatus building just opposite her, but Kivik had no way of knowing how many Penitus Oculatus might be inside.

Opening the door as softly as she could, Kivik paused to let her eyes adjust to the dimness of the small room. She could only see one man standing guard, though she could hear others snoring. Kivik saw a piece of paper resting on a low table and crept toward it, hoping the guard wouldn’t turn around.

He didn’t, and Kivik snatched up the paper. It was the schedule she was looking for. Tucking it into her pocket, she slipped silently back out the door and back into her hiding place to examine the schedule.

According to the paper, Maro’s next stop would be in Riften. Kivik tucked the paper back into her pocket, pleased. She had been wanting to find out what Sapphire had learned about the mysterious symbol anyway, and it was always nice not to have her two families pulling her in opposite directions.

She soon caught up to Maro on the road to Riften. The man was an incredibly slow walker. After a free minutes of creeping along behind him, trying to stay out of sight, Kivik knew that if she followed him like this all the way to Riften she would end the journey about as sane as Cicero. Giving the man a wide berth and keeping to the trees, she passed him, and continued walking at her own pace, trusting that he would keep to his planned schedule and catch up with her in Riften.

Arriving in the city, Kivik desperately wanted to go down to the Ragged Flagon and see what Sapphire and Brynjolf had uncovered, but she knew that should wait until her business with Maro was taken care of. She scoured the city for a good, shadowy place from which to launch a poisoned arrow at the man, and eventually settled on the entrance to a narrow alley that Maro would have to pass as he entered the city. Unsure of exactly how far behind her he would be, Kivik sat down on the spot and waited.

And waited.

Finally, she saw him, and after glancing around to ensure no guards were watching, Kivik made her shot. The arrow was laced with a paralyzing poison, so he didn’t even cry out as he fell. Kivik darted forward and slipped Astrid’s fake letter into his tunic before disappearing like a shadow back into the alley.

Not wanting to be seen in the vicinity of the dead man, she made her way quickly to the Guild’s hidden entrance in the graveyard and climbed down the ladder into the cistern. She scanned around the room for Sapphire, but spotted Brynjolf first.

“I heard about that murder in Solitude, lass,” he said quietly. “I assume that was the big political job you were working on?”

“Well, no, not really,” Kivik said.

“Not really? That wasn’t you?”

“It was me,” she clarified, “but that wasn’t the contract I was talking about. _That_ big political job is… still in the works.”

“That wasn’t the job? It’s the talk of the whole city!”

“Well, I’m glad people appreciate my work,” Kivik said.

“So what brings you to Riften?” Brynjolf asked.

“Well, you’ll never believe it, but… murder. A body is going to be discovered in the next few hours, a young Imperial who was collaborating with the Stormcloak rebellion.” _Or at least that’s what the letter I planted on him says he was doing._ “But I thought I would pick up a few odd jobs from Delvin and Vex as well. And I wanted to talk to Sapphire.”

“Sapphire? You’re out of luck, lass. She’s on her way to Solitude.”

“Solitude? Why?”

“Mercer recognized a name on the documents you recovered at the meadery,” Brynjolf explained, “an old contact of the Guild’s, an Argonian by the name of Gulum-Ei. It seems Gulum-Ei’s been working with our mysterious adversary, the one who signs with that symbol we keep seeing. Sapphire’s going to try and get some information out of him on that person’s identity.”

“You think whoever it is has something against the Guild?” Kivik asked.

“Mercer thinks they’re trying to chip away at the Guild’s resources by cutting us off from Maven Black-Briar, which is clever, if it is their plan. Of course, my first thought was simply that this person was aiming for Maven herself, and we were only collateral damage…”

Kivik’s eyes widened. “Brynjolf, no,” she said quickly. “You don’t think _I’m_ behind this, do you? I told you, I won’t go after her until I know the Guild can stand on its own. This wasn’t me.”

Brynjolf sighed. “I believe you, lass. And I didn’t say anything about it to Mercer, you did good enough work at Goldenglow to earn the Guild’s trust as far as I’m concerned. I never thanked you properly for fixing my arm, by the way.”

“It was nothing,” Kivik said, relieved that he didn’t think her an enemy of the Guild. “I should go talk to Vex and Delvin, see if they have anything for me.”

Brynjolf nodded, and Kivik made her way into the Ragged Flagon, where she located Delvin and asked if he had any jobs, preferably in the Whiterun area. He did, though this time he was careful to specify that she should _not_ steal anything from the newly converted Black-Briar Meadery of Whiterun. Vex was less helpful, offering Kivik a job in Markarth. It was out of the way, but there was no deadline, and Kivik could use some good old-fashioned burglary, so she accepted, even though she knew it would probably be quite some time before she found herself travelling that far west.

Part of Kivik wanted to wait, to stay in Riften until Sapphire returned with whatever information she had found, but she had no idea how long that would take, and she needed to get back to Astrid and tell her of her success with the younger Maro. Besides, it was probably better to get out of the city before the body was discovered. So before she knew it, she was heading back to Falkreath, this time by moonlight.

She stumbled into the sanctuary just before dawn. Given the hour, she wasn’t surprised that Astrid wasn’t waiting up for her in her usual place. Making her way down into the central chamber, in hopes of getting a bit of rest before Astrid rose and wanted to discuss the job, Kivik came face-to-face with Astrid herself. She was standing, with most of the rest of the Brotherhood, in a small cluster, and Kivik saw with horror that someone - Veezara - was not standing, but on the ground and bleeding badly.

Hearing her approach, Astrid turned to face her. “Maro is dead, I know. But we've got bigger problems right now.”

  
  



	12. Chapter 12

“What’s going on?” Kivik asked.

“It’s Cicero,” Astrid said. “The fool went absolutely berserk! He wounded Veezara, tried to kill me, and then he fled. I knew that lunatic couldn't be trusted. Look, we've got to deal with this situation. You've got to deal with this situation.”

“What do you want me to do?” 

“I want you to find that miserable little fool and end his life! But first… find my husband. Make sure he's all right. After the attack, Arnbjorn flew into a rage. When Cicero left, Arnbjorn went after him. They disappeared into the wild. Search Cicero's room. Maybe there's something in there that sheds some light on where he might have gone. Let me know the minute you find something. I've got to see to Veezara, and calm everyone down.”

“Do you want me to look at Veezara first? I know some healing spells that can help.”

Astrid looked surprised, but stepped aside and gestured to where Veezara sat. “Please.”

Kivik knelt by his side, her hands already beginning to glow with golden light. “Did something set Cicero off?” she asked. 

“No, nothing. At least nothing I'm aware of,” Astrid said, watching Veezara’s wounds close. “Well… if I'm being honest, I haven't exactly been discreet lately in expressing my frustration with this whole situation. Obeying the Night Mother. You being the Listener. It's ridiculous. No offense.”

Kivik shrugged.  _ She’s right. It is ridiculous. _

“Cicero may have overheard me talking to one of the others about the Night Mother,” Astrid continued. “It's possible I was… not entirely respectful. But to go this far? To attempt to murder the leader of a Sanctuary? Cicero must pay with his life. There is no other option.”

Kivik nodded, but she was concentrating on the spell. With a final burst of light, Veezara’s wounds were significantly better, and Kivik was exhausted.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not strong enough to do any more magic right now.”

“Bested by a fool. Who's the fool now, hmm?” he muttered. “Thank you. You are most kind. The jester's cut feels as bad as it looks, I'm afraid.”

“Hush, Veezara. You were very brave,” Babbette chimed in, pulling some potions from a pocket and taking Kivik’s place by his side. “Astrid may well be dead if not for you.”

“She's right. I'll be forever in your debt, dearest brother. Now be quiet. Just… just rest,” Astrid turned to Kivik. “That was good work. Healing magic isn’t very common among the Dark Brotherhood. And here—your bonus for the Maro job. Now please, I need to stay with Veezara. Search the fool’s room, and tell me what you find.”

Kivik nodded, and left Veezara to Babbette’s care. Cicero’s room was messy, with random items scattered around, tossed on tables and on the floor. Kivik spotted a journal sitting on a dresser, but when she flipped through it, she found nothing. The book was old. It seemed that at one time, Cicero had been an ordinary man, or as ordinary as any Dark Brotherhood assassin could be. The journal ended abruptly as the pages ran out, and Kivik wondered what had happened to change him. She looked around, and spotted another journal resting on a shelf. This one was even older, and no more useful. Finally she noticed another volume on the bedside table. This must be the most recent. 

_ 30th of Sun's Dusk, 4E 200. I have written the letters. So polite. So official! To Astrid, in Skyrim. Her Sanctuary still stands. Still operates. But how? No Listener means no Black Sacrament, no Black Sacrament means no contracts. Her family can abandon the Old Ways, and still survive, still kill, but is that family still Brotherhood? Or something else? Something new. Something different. Something wrong? Something wrong. _

This sounded like the Cicero that Kivik was familiar with. She read on, searching for anything that might indicate where he could have gone.

_ I've been reading of Skyrim, of the good days, the old days, of the Old Ways. There was another Sanctuary once. A Dawnstar Sanctuary. Good, ancient and strong. Blessed by Sithis. Cicero will go there! No need of Astrid! The Mother and I will settle, and she will speak to me, finally, and we will build the Old Ways anew, together. _

A sanctuary in Dawnstar? Now she was getting somewhere. But if the Dawnstar sanctuary was anything like this one, it would be protected both by secrecy and by a passphrase. Would Cicero have been foolish enough to write the phrase down?

_ 23rd of Evening Star, 4E 200. The passphrase is mine! I have found it, in a letter ancient as the Sanctuary itself. The Black Door will ask “What is life's greatest illusion?” I am to answer - “Innocence my brother.” Finally, a space, a place, to call my own! A joker's retreat for the Fool of Hearts!!!! _

Kivik closed the book, satisfied, and took it with her. She returned to the main chamber, where Veezara was drinking some kind of potion and looking a little better.

“Have you found something?” Astrid said.

“Yes, Cicero’s journal.” Kivik offered the journal, but Astrid didn’t seem to notice.

“Good, good. Does it say where he may be headed?”

“Yes, an abandoned Sanctuary in Dawnstar. I have the passphrase.” 

Astrid looked at Kivik for the first time. “The Dawnstar Sanctuary? Whatever for? Never mind, it doesn't matter. You need to leave. Now.”

Astrid’s voice was harsh, and after her brief moment of surprise at the mention of the Dawnstar sanctuary, she didn’t meet Kivik’s eyes. 

“Every moment counts, so I want you to take my horse,” Astrid continued. “His name is Shadowmere. You'll find him outside, by the pool. Let's just say he's… one of us. Find Arnbjorn. Make sure my husband's all right. And then, send that jester's twisted little soul to the Void, in as many pieces as possible.”

Kivik certainly wasn’t going to wait a moment longer than she had to. Stuffing the journal into her pocket, she ran up the stairs and out to the pool, wondering how she was supposed to find this horse. As she stared at the pool in confusion, it suddenly began to bubble and shift, and a dark form emerged from its depths. The form became larger and more defined, until a black horse with glowing red eyes was standing in front of her.  _ Huh. That’s a new one. _

Kivik climbed onto the strange horse’s back and started north.

Shadowmere was fast, faster than any other horse Kivik had encountered, and didn’t seem to tire. Still, it was a full day’s journey to Dawnstar, especially with Kivik trying to reserve her strength for the fight ahead.

In the end, she found the sanctuary by following the sound of Arnbjorn’s pained moans. He was lying on the ground outside of a door that looked just like the sanctuary door Kivik knew, and bleeding badly.

“Should have figured Astrid would send you,” he said as Kivik approached.

“You're hurt.” 

“What gave it away?” he laughed hollowly. “Yeah, got to admit that little jester is good with that butter knife. But don't worry, I gave as good as I got.”

Deciding to conserve her magic in case it was needed, Kivik offered him a healing potion, which he drank gratefully. “Where's Cicero now?” 

“In there! Through the door. Some old Sanctuary, by the looks of it. I would have followed him, but I don't know the phrase.”

“I know the phrase. I'll get Cicero—you go home,” she said gently. “Astrid is worried sick.”

“All right, you convinced me. Doubt I'd be much good to you, anyway. The little fop cut me pretty deep. But I slashed him good. Pretty sure I severed an artery. Don't know what you're going to find in there… but you can probably just follow the blood.”

Kivik nodded and warily approached the door. She laid her hand on it and it spoke with a familiar draugr-like voice.

“What is life’s greatest illusion?”

“Innocence, my brother,” she replied, and it opened.

“Listener! Is that you? Oh, I knew you'd come. Send the best to defeat the best. Astrid knew her stupid wolf couldn't slay sly Cicero.”

The fool’s voice echoed through the sanctuary’s stone hallways, and Kivik couldn’t tell how close to her he was. Arnbjorn had been right about the blood, though. With this trail, she would have no problem locating him. She crept forward, following the trail, and saw ahead of her a blue glimmer.

The glimmer resolved itself into a form. It was some sort of ghost, and an angry one. It rushed at Kivik and she hastily slashed at it with her sword. The ghost dissolved, and she heard the plaintive voice of Cicero echoing down the hall ahead of her again.

“Oh, but this isn't at all what Mother would want. You kill the Keeper or I kill the Listener? Now that's madness.”

Kivik continued making her way through the empty sanctuary, encountering several more of the strange apparitions, and gritting her teeth as she listened to Cicero’s taunts. At one point, the stone walls gave way to ice, and Kivik wondered just how far she would have to chase the little traitor.

“Brrr! Chilly! You'll enjoy this,” he called. “Not an original part of the Sanctuary, per se. Let's call it a ‘forced addition.’ Forced by what? Oh, come and see!”

That didn’t sound good. Kivik crept forward through the icy tunnel as silently as she could, alert for any sounds or signs of danger.

The bloody bones were a fairly good sign. Kivik had suspected frostbite spiders, but this was much worse. Finally she spotted the creature and her fears were confirmed.  _ Great. He has a cave troll. _

Kivik knew that she would only have one shot at the troll before it charged her, and she couldn’t afford to fight it hand-to-claw right now. Digging through her bag, she found her deadliest poison and her strongest arrow, and prepared to strike. Holding her breath, she waited until the troll ambled directly into her line of sight, then released the arrow. The troll staggered, but didn’t fall. Kivik hastily prepared another arrow and fired again, this time catching the troll directly between the eyes as it turned to look at her. It fell, and Kivik crept past the body, ignoring the carnage scattered around its lair. Cicero must have heard the sound of the troll falling, for he called back to her again, a note of panic beginning to creep into his voice.

“All right, so Cicero attacked that harlot, Astrid! But what's a fool to do, when his mother is slandered and mocked? Surely the Listener understands!”

_ That’s it, _ Kivik thought, as if the attacks on Veezara and Arnbjorn, the troll, and all of the previous taunting hadn’t been enough.  _ This is Cicero’s last day outside the Void. _

The ice gave way to stone walls once again, and Kivik saw the trail she had been following. The ghosts were nothing to her now. She slashed one, and then another, watching them disappear into nothingness.

“Cicero admits, he thought the Listener would be dead by now. Heh. Maybe we could just forget all this? Hmm? Let bygones be bygones? What do you say?”

He sounded so close. Kivik was certain that the jester was just around the corner, watching her.  _ How is he so fast?  _ She passed through a room filled with coffins, checking each to be certain Cicero wasn’t hiding inside one as she had done, but found only dusty skeletons.

“If it's any comfort, I do feel slightly bad about Veezara,” Cicero called. “Stupid lizard got in the way! But please tell me that hulking sheepdog has bled to death.”

He tried to hide it, but the fear in his voice was growing. Finally, Kivik stood in front of a closed door, her hand on her sword, and prepared herself for what she might find on the other side of it.

“And now we come to the end of our play. The grand finale,” Cicero said, and she knew that she had caught up to him at last. She opened the door, and saw the jester curled on the ground, holding his wounds.

“You caught me! I surrender!” he said, laughing frantically. 

Kivik stared at the pathetic creature before her. She wanted to speak, to tell him that his time in the realm of the living had ended when he chose to betray the family and attack Astrid, but she was too overcome with rage to form the words.

“Oh, you prefer to listen, eh?” he muttered, taking her silence for an opening. “Of course, of course! The Listener listens! A joke! A funny joke! I get it. Then listen to this—don't kill me. Let poor Cicero live!”

Kivik was astonished to think that after all this, Cicero still thought he hadn’t earned his death. 

“I attacked the strumpet Astrid, I did! And I'd do it again!” he cried, and Kivik’s rage grew with every word. “Anything for our mother! Return to the pretender, tell her I'm dead! Tell her you strangled me with my own intestines! Ha ha! But lie! Yes, lie! Lie, and let me live!”

Silently, Kivik raised her sword, and brought it down towards the jester, but he sprang to his feet, injuries apparently forgotten.

“Ha ha! Behold the final trick of the Fool of Hearts!” he screeched, dancing out of the path of Kivik’s blade. “You think me near death? Think again!”

From somewhere in his jingling clothes he produced a knife, and brandished it. Kivik suddenly remembered how badly he had wounded Veezara, and even Arnbjorn, and realized she had long underestimated the little man. Still, Kivik’s fury made her more than a match for him. Though she took some serious wounds, it was the jester who lay lifeless on the stone floor before long. 

Kivik stripped the jingling hat from his head and returned, exhausted, to the entrance of the sanctuary, only to find that Arnbjorn had disappeared with the horse.  _ Fantastic. I guess I’m walking back to Falkreath, then. _

Hours later, as she neared Whiterun, Kivik remembered the token Astrid had pressed into her hand in the sanctuary. To receive a reading of her future.  _ That sure might be useful right now,  _ she thought, fishing the token out of her pocket and examining it. Surely Astrid could wait until tomorrow for news of Cicero.

She found Olava sitting on her usual bench outside her home. The old woman looked at her warily as she approached, and Kivik realized that she was still visibly wounded, her clothes stained with blood.

“Come to Olava for a reading, did you? Sorry, pup, but I'm not quite in the mood.”

“I have this token for you,” Kivik said, holding out the token. 

“Token, you say? Let me see. Oh, goodness me. You're a friend of Astrid’s, then. Well, I guess we both know why you're here.”

“I was told you could see my future,” Kivik said gently. 

“Hmph. Yes. Yes, I surely can. It's not something I do lightly, mind you, and it's not as specific as you might want. But yes. I will do this for you. Please, relax. Free your mind.”

Kivik closed her eyes and tried to free her mind. 

“Yes, that's it…” Olava said, her hand clasping Kivik’s.

“What do you see?” 

“There's a cave. No, not a cave. A… home? A place you feel secure. You will find safety there... sanctuary.”

_ That must be the sanctuary, _ Kivik thought.  _ Or perhaps… the Guild cistern? _

“I see snow, lit by the star of dawn. And you are not alone. There are others. A child of night... a stalker of the sands?” Olava continued. Suddenly, her hand clamped down on Kivik’s and her voice became frightened. “Oh, but before you are family, there will be blood. Such blood.”

_ What? But there has already been blood.  _ Kivik thought of the figures of Veezara and Arnbjorn, bleeding on the ground, and the ghastly trail she had followed through the sanctuary to find Cicero.

“Wait! There's something else… a potential for adventure, and wealth,” Olava continued, but Kivik was barely listening. “It is a ruin, ripe for the plunder. Deepwood Redoubt. Far to the northwest… through there is… Hag’s End. The last resting place of an assassin of old. A Dark Brother, who bequeaths his ancient earthly possessions… to you.”

_ Before you are family, there will be blood.  _ “Is there anything else?” Kivik stammered.

“No… no, that is all. Now… now please. I find myself very weary all of sudden.”

Olava dropped Kivik’s hand and she staggered backwards, hardly even seeing the old woman. She had been intending to go home, to see Lucia, to rest, but instead Kivik found herself stumbling blindly out of the city.

_ There will be blood. Such blood.  _ What had that meant? Kivik wondered desperately whether Olava had somehow been seeing the past instead of the future, but Astrid had said she was powerful. Surely the woman knew what she was doing.  _ Such blood. Somewhere you feel safe.  _ The old woman’s words echoed through Kivik’s mind just as the jester’s had echoed through the empty stone halls. Taunting her. Was she always to be chasing a trail of blood?  _ You are not alone. Oh, but there will be blood. Such blood. _

Kivik saw again Veezara, bleeding on the sanctuary floor. Arnbjorn, outside the Black Door. Brynjolf clutching his broken arm. She looked down at her own bloody clothing.  _ Hasn’t there been enough blood?  _

Somehow, Kivik found herself opening the door of the sanctuary. Inside, she found Arnbjorn had returned safely, and Veezara appeared to have improved somewhat.

“Arnbjorn is safe, and for that you have my thanks. But what of the fool? Is Cicero dead?” Astrid said, approaching Kivik.

“Yes, Cicero is dead,” she said wearily.

“Excellent. Once again, you've proven yourself a born assassin. And now that this Cicero mess has been mopped up, we can get back to the matter at hand, hmm?”

Kivik tried to push back her thoughts of Olava’s reading. “Right. So what's my next task?” 

“There's just one more target before we strike out at the Emperor, but the timing is important. Festus has been spearheading this part of the assassination plan. Speak to him, and he will explain the details. Then, we simply wait for the Emperor’s visit. You may do whatever you wish in the meantime, but be ready to go when you receive our signal. We’ll only have one shot at this.”

Kivik nodded.  _ There will be blood. Such blood. _

“Speak to Festus, then wait for our signal,” Astrid was saying, but neither of them looked the other in the eye.

  
  



	13. Chapter 13

Kivik couldn’t return to Whiterun, not now, and it seemed she wasn’t needed in the sanctuary, so after a night of rest she made her way to Riften. Perhaps Sapphire had returned from Solitude by now, with information about the Guild’s mysterious adversary.

She found the Flagon strangely empty, and continued into the cistern, where she saw that Sapphire had returned, and was discussing something with Mercer and the others. Kivik approached the group, quietly taking a place next to Brynjolf, and tried to figure out what she had missed.

“No, it… it can't be,” Mercer was saying. “I haven't heard that name in decades. This is grave news indeed, she's someone I hoped to never cross paths with again.”

“Gulum-Ei also told me she was a murderer,” Sapphire said. 

“Karliah destroyed everything this Guild stood for. She murdered my predecessor in cold blood and betrayed the Guild. After we discovered what she'd done, we spent months trying to track her down, but she just vanished.”

“Why has she returned?” 

“Karliah and I were like partners. I went with her on every heist. We watched each other's backs. I know her techniques, her skills. If she kills me, there'll be no one left who can possibly catch her. If only we knew where she was…”

“Gulum-Ei told me she said, ‘where the end began’.” 

“There's only one place that could be,” Mercer said confidently. “The place where she murdered Gallus… a ruin called Snow Veil Sanctum. We have to go out there before she disappears again.”

“We?” Sapphire asked.

“No, not you,” Mercer said, turning to Kivik. “You. Yes, I'm going with you and together we're going to kill her. Prepare yourself and meet me outside as soon as you can. We can't let her slip through our fingers.”

Sapphire looked slightly disappointed, and Kivik wondered why Mercer had picked her for the job instead. Still, she was pleased to have the job. It would keep her mind away from troubling thoughts.

With an apologetic glance at Sapphire, Kivik followed Mercer out of the cistern. They left the city, walking in silence for several minutes. Finally, Kivik couldn’t take it any longer.

“Tell me about Karliah,” she said.

Mercer gave her an odd look, but then shrugged. “She was a stubborn Dunmer... always had to do everything her way,” he said. “But she was the best... bringing in more coin a month than some thieves heist in a year. Gallus trusted her too much and I let her get too close.”

This was more emotion than Kivik had ever seen from the man. “So, they had a relationship?” she asked gently, afraid of pushing her luck. 

“If you want to call it that, yes. Me? I think she was softening him for the kill. Gallus would call her his ‘little nightingale’. He was absolutely smitten by her.”

This didn’t sound anything like the Mercer she knew. His voice was pained, and Kivik realized that this Karliah must have seriously hurt him. She wouldn’t be surprised if he had been a little smitten with her himself, once. Or with Gallus. There was clearly something here that he wasn’t mentioning, something that lay behind that anger.

“Why did she kill him?” 

“Greed? Jealousy? Spite? Who can say what drove her to such an iniquitous act. One thing's certain. I intend to find out before she draws her last breath.”

“Isn't murder… Dark Brotherhood territory?” Kivik said cautiously. 

Mercer looked at her suspiciously and she regretted saying anything. “I have a long-standing arrangement with the Dark Brotherhood,” he said. 

_ You do? That’s the first I’m hearing of it. _

“If I need someone in the Guild taken care of, we do it ourselves. We both agree it's best to keep these matters in house.”

Mercer fell silent again, and Kivik decided not to push the issue. The man could be temperamental enough even when he  _ wasn't  _ pursuing an old-friend-turned-enemy who had murdered another dear friend.

Mercer remained silent until they reached the ruin. “There’s her horse,” he said. “Karliah must still be inside. Let’s get moving, I want to catch her inside while she’s distracted. You take the lead.”

Kivik looked at him quizzically. “You want me to lead?”

“I'm sorry, I was under the impression I was in charge. You're leading and I'm following. Does that seem clear to you?”

That sounded more like the Mercer she was familiar with. “Understood.” 

“Just make sure you keep your eyes open. Karliah is as sharp as a blade. The last thing I need is you blundering into a trap and warning her that we're here.”

Mercer approached the door of the ruin and messed with the lock. “They say these ancient Nordic burial mounds are sometimes impenetrable. This one doesn't look too difficult. Quite simple really, I don't know what the fuss is about these locks. All it takes is a bit of know-how and a lot of skill. That should do it. After you.”

Kivik still wasn’t sure why he wanted her to lead, but she wasn’t going to argue. She stepped ahead of him through the door, and paused a moment to allow her eyes to adjust to the dark tomb.

“How did Gallus die?” she asked quietly, once she had determined there was nothing in the room that wanted to kill them. 

“Twenty-five years ago I was standing outside these very same ruins,” Mercer said with all the drama of a bard. “Gallus told me to meet here but he wouldn't say why. When I arrived, Gallus stepped from the shadows. Before he uttered a sound an arrow pierced his throat. Before I could even draw my blade, her second arrow found its mark in my chest.”

“So Karliah took on both of you alone?” 

“Karliah was a master marksman and her greatest weapon was the element of surprise. I was lucky... she missed my heart by mere inches. I staggered away from the ruins and my vision began to blur. It's then that I realized the bitch had poisoned her arrows.”

Kivik thought of her own poisoned arrows, and chuckled to herself. If it wasn’t for the cold-blooded murder, this Karliah sounded like just Kivik’s type. Then again, Kivik had been known to participate in some murder herself from time to time. But better not to let Mercer know that.

“And Gallus?” she prompted. 

“The last thing I saw was Karliah dumping his body into an opening atop the ruins; an unceremonious end for a remarkable man. To this day I've regretted allowing her to escape, even if it meant I had died trying. I owed Gallus that much.”

_ Mercer missed his calling as a bard when he became a thief,  _ Kivik thought, and promptly found herself face to face with a draugr who didn’t look like he appreciated being woken up.

Mercer reacted quicker than she did, and the draugr fell before it even had a chance to raise its weapon.

“What happened after Gallus died?” Kivik asked, picking up where they had left off. 

“The Guild was thrown into disarray. Several stepped up and tried to Gallus' former position as Guild Master. Sides quickly formed behind these men and the Ratway became a bloodbath.”

Another draugr appeared, and Kivik took it down with her sword. A few poisoned arrows would be useful in this crypt, but she wanted to remain on Mercer’s good side.

“And you were a part of this?” 

“I saw what they did to Gallus,” he said as if he hadn’t even noticed the interruption. “I wanted to use the Guild's resources to hunt down Karliah. The others didn't even care he was gone. Fortunately, I persevered and the other groups were either killed or they left Skyrim.”

_ Killed or left Skyrim? That’s… serious.  _ “And what of Karliah?” 

“The infighting had taken months to subside, which gave her time to go into hiding and carefully cover her tracks. I spent thousands of septims and used every contact at my disposal, but it was as if she had simply vanished... like I said before, she was the best.”

Once again, Kivik felt a growing respect for this Karliah. She couldn’t help but remember that the first she had heard of the woman had been her attacks on Maven Black-Briar, something which Kivik certainly couldn’t hold against her.

Then she remembered Cicero, attempting to kill Astrid and then fleeing the sanctuary. Was that not, in a way, what Karliah had done? Only Cicero had failed to harm Astrid and only met his own end, while Karliah had succeeded in murdering her family’s leader, and escaped without a scratch. No, Karliah was not someone to be admired, only a traitor and a murderer like Cicero.

“Pull the chain over there, and watch out for the spikes,” Mercer said, interrupting Kivik’s train of thought. “Looks like Karliah reset all of the traps.”

Kivik pulled the chain and stepped back, allowing the large spiked contraption to swing past her through empty air. They continued in silence, punctuated only by the occasional brief battle with a draugr, until they reached a door with three sliding rings that Kivik would have known anywhere. Her heart sank. These doors required a special key to open, and she was certain that neither she nor Mercer had one. Mercer, however, didn’t look concerned about the door at all.

“Ah, it's one of the infamous Nordic puzzle doors,” he said. “How quaint. Without the matching claw, they're normally impossible to open. And since I'm certain Karliah already did away with it, we're on our own.” He stepped up to the door and did something to the lock that Kivik couldn’t quite see. “Fortunately, these doors have a weakness if you know how to exploit it. Quite simple, really. Karliah's close. I'm certain of it. Now let's get moving.” Amazingly, whatever he had done worked, and the door slid open. 

Kivik barely had time to wonder what Mercer had done to the lock when there was a piercing pain in her leg and ice began seeping through her veins. She fell to the floor, unable to move or even call upon her magic to heal herself.  _ The poisoned arrows,  _ she thought, and saw a figure step out of the shadows above her.  _ Karliah. _

Mercer stepped over her, seemingly unphased by her sudden fall. “Do you honestly think your arrow will reach me before my blade finds your heart?” he said to Karliah.

“Give me a reason to try,” she responded angrily.

“You're a clever girl, Karliah. Buying Goldenglow Estate and funding Honningbrew Meadery was inspired.”

Kivik, lying helpless on the floor, had to agree with him there. It  _ was  _ inspired.

“‘To ensure an enemy's defeat, you must first undermine his allies.’ It was the first lesson Gallus taught us.”

“You always were a quick study,” Mercer said bitterly.

“Not quick enough, otherwise Gallus would still be alive.”

_ What?  _

But Mercer didn’t seem surprised by this statement, or even bother to contradict it. “Gallus had his wealth and he had you. All he had to do was look the other way,” he said.

“Did you forget your oath we took as Nightingales?” Karliah said angrily. “Did you expect him to simply ignore your methods?”

“Enough of all this mindless banter!” Mercer shouted suddenly. “Come on, Karliah. It's time for you and Gallus to become reunited!”

“I'm no fool, Mercer. Crossing blades with you would be a death sentence. But I can promise the next time we meet, it will be your undoing.”

Karliah took a vial from her pocket and drank the contents, immediately fading away into nothingness as she did.  _ An invisibility potion.  _ Mercer rushed for where she had been, but quickly realized that it was hopeless. He approached the place where Kivik lay paralyzed, and looked down at her smugly.

“How interesting. It appears Gallus' history has repeated itself,” he said, and it finally sank in that  _ he  _ was the traitor, and the murderer.  _ That’s why he wanted me to lead. So I would catch Karliah’s arrow _ . 

“Karliah has provided me with the means to be rid of you, and this ancient tomb becomes your final resting place. But do you know what intrigues me the most?” he said, smiling. “The fact that this was all possible because of you. Farewell. I'll be certain to give Brynjolf your regards.”

_ He’s going to tell Brynjolf I was the traitor,  _ she thought desperately as Mercer raised his knife. Then,  _ he’s going to kill me. _

Mercer brought the blade down with a grin, and darkness enveloped her.

Kivik opened her eyes, and found that she didn’t appear to be dead.  _ Mercer. That bastard, where is he?  _ She tried to get to her feet, but something was still wrong.

“Easy, easy,” said a gentle voice, and Kivik saw Karliah crouching above her. “Don't get up so quickly. How are you feeling?”

“Hold on... you shot me!” Kivik said, still feeling the effects of the poison. And the arrow to the leg. 

“No, I saved your life. My arrow was tipped with a unique paralytic poison. It slowed your heart and kept you from bleeding out. Had I intended to kill you, we wouldn't be having this conversation.”

Kivik believed her. Why else would Karliah have aimed for the leg? “Why save me?” she asked. 

“My original intention was to use that arrow on Mercer, but I never had a clear shot. I made a split second decision to get you out of the way and it prevented your death.”

_ Prevented my death when Mercer stabbed me _ , she thought.

“Then I'm in your debt.” 

“More than you'll ever realize,” Karliah said a little bitterly. “The poison on that arrow took me a year to perfect; I only had enough for a single shot. All I had hoped was to capture Mercer alive.”

Kivik managed to sit up, and Karliah steadied her with a hand on her shoulder. “Why capture Mercer alive?” 

“Mercer must be brought before the Guild to answer for what he's done. He needs to pay for Gallus's murder.”

“He told them - told  _ us  _ all that it was you. How will you prove it wasn’t? They trust him. We all did,” she finished softly.

“I know,” Karliah said gently. “My purpose in using Snow Veil Sanctum to ambush Mercer wasn't simply for irony's sake. Before both of you arrived, I recovered a journal from Gallus's remains. I suspect the information we need is written inside.”

“Well, what's it say?” 

“I wish I knew. The journal is written in some sort of language I've never seen before.”

“Perhaps it could be translated.” 

“Enthir... Gallus's friend at the College of Winterhold. Of course… it's the only outsider Gallus trusted with the knowledge of his Nightingale identity.”

“There's that word again, ‘Nightingale’.” 

“There were three of us. Myself, Gallus and Mercer. We were an anonymous splinter of the Thieves Guild in Riften. Perhaps I'll tell you more about it later. Right now, you need to head for Winterhold with the journal and get the translation.”

Karliah helped Kivik to her feet, and she wondered what had happened to ‘take it easy’. She had just been shot, poisoned, and stabbed, and now Karliah wanted her to go all the way to Winterhold?

But Kivik knew obtaining the translation was essential. It wasn’t only Karliah who needed to prove her innocence, after all. She was certain that Mercer had already told the Guild that she herself was a traitor by now.  _ I’ll give Brynjolf your regards,  _ he had said, and she knew he didn’t mean it kindly. 

Kivik took the journal. Can't you come with me to Winterhold?” she asked. 

“I'm afraid not. There are preparations to make and Gallus's remains to lay to rest. I promise to join you there as soon as I can.”

As she trudged to Winterhold, stopping periodically to treat her wounds with a little magic, Kivik thought of Sapphire and Brynjolf, and what lies Mercer had probably told them. What would it be? That she had attempted to kill him, and he had narrowly escaped with his life? That he had tragically had to kill her after discovering she was a Dark Brotherhood assassin sent by Karliah to infiltrate the Guild and earn their trust?

Would they believe him? Of course they would. They both knew she was part of the Brotherhood, from there it was only a small jump to believe that she had never really been a friend.  _ I didn’t even speak to them when I was there,  _ she realized.  _ I didn’t say goodbye. I didn’t say anything. _

By the time she reached the small town of Winterhold, Kivik was exhausted, sore, and shivering in the cold, but mostly she was burning with anger at Mercer. She stumbled into the inn, hoping to ask the innkeeper where Enthir might be, but spotted an old, studious-looking man at a table and decided to ask him instead. He looked like a college type.

“Where can I find Enthir?” she demanded. The man looked up at her in surprise.

“Right here,” he said, “What is it?”

_ By the Nine, finally something has gone right, _ Kivik thought, sitting down beside him. “I've been sent by Karliah,” she said. 

“Karliah? Then she's finally found it. Do you have Gallus's journal?”

“Yes, but there's a problem,” she said, taking out the journal. 

“A problem? Let me see it. Ah, this is just like Gallus,” he said, smiling fondly. “A dear friend, but always too clever for his own good. He's written all of the text in the Falmer language.”

“The Falmer language? Can you translate it?”

Enthir looked thoughtful. “Yes, but I’ll need to gather some materials, and possibly speak to a few colleagues at the College. I won’t mention the content of what I’m seeking to translate, of course. But you look like you’ve travelled far today. Stay here at the inn, and I’ll be back as soon as I have what I need to translate the journal. I imagine this is… a time-sensitive project?”

“Yes,” Kivik said. “And quite possibly life or death.”

Enthir nodded solemnly and rose, handing the journal back to Kivik. “Get yourself a room and some rest,” he said. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

He left the inn, and Kivik paid the curious innkeeper a few septims for a room, and lay down on the narrow bed, exhausted.  _ I won’t sleep. I’ll just rest a bit, until Enthir comes back _ , she thought.

She woke once again to Karliah standing over her, gently prodding her arm. “Enthir is ready to begin the translation,” she said quietly.

Kivik stood hastily and handed the journal to Karliah, who took it gratefully and passed it to Enthir. Enthir stared closely at the text, and began comparing it to pages and pages of notes and scribblings, muttering softly to himself.

“Why did Gallus scribe his journal in Falmer?” Kivik asked Karliah, but Enthir answered without looking up from his work. “Besides the fact that there are only a handful of people in Tamriel that even recognize the language? I'm fairly certain he was planning some sort of a heist that involved a deep understanding of the Falmer language. Sadly, we never had the opportunity to speak about the details.”

Kivik and Karliah waited quietly as the old scholar worked, and it wasn’t long before Enthir set down the book triumphantly.

“This is intriguing, but highly disturbing,” he said. “It appears that Gallus had suspicions about Mercer Frey's allegiance to the Guild for months. Gallus had begun to uncover what he calls an ‘...unduly lavish lifestyle replete with spending vast amounts of gold on personal pleasures’.”

“Does the journal say where this wealth came from?” Karliah asked.

“Yes. Gallus seems certain that Mercer had been removing funds from the Guild's treasury without anyone's knowledge.”

“Anything else, Enthir? Anything about... the Nightingales?”

“Hmm. Yes, here it is. The last few pages seem to describe ‘the failure of the Nightingales’ although it doesn't go into great detail. Gallus also repeatedly mentions his strong belief that Mercer desecrated something known as the Twilight Sepulcher.”

“Shadows preserve us,” Karliah said softly. “So it's true…”

“I'm not familiar with the Twilight Sepulcher,” Enthir said with all the curiosity of a scholar. “What is it? What's Mercer Frey done?”

“I'm sorry Enthir, I can't say,” Karliah said, standing abruptly. “All that matters is we deliver your translation to the Guild immediately. Farewell, Enthir… words can't express…”

“It's alright, Karliah. You don't have to say a word.”

Kivik quickly gathered her belongings while Karliah took the translation and the original journal from Enthir, and soon the pair were once more on the road.

“It’s a long way to Riften,” Kivik said when they had been walking south for about an hour. “and we don’t know what we’ll find there. Perhaps we should take a carriage from Windhelm, and save our strength? I know a carriage driver there who’s very reliable.”

Karliah nodded, and Kivik breathed a sigh of relief. After days of almost nonstop travel and fighting, a bumpy carriage ride from Windhelm to Riften sounded like pure bliss. Just the thought of sitting down made her feel a little bit better about their predicament.

“Tell me about Gallus,” she said later as they took their places in the carriage. 

“He was a scholar, a master thief and a natural leader,” Karliah said, smiling wistfully. “Everyone respected him and followed him without question. It was Gallus who inducted me into the Nightingales and honed my skills to a razor sharp point. I owe everything to him. We were… very close.”

“You were lovers?” 

“Gallus once said he felt comfortable around me; able to let his guard down. I can't help but think that I'm responsible for what happened to him.”

Karliah fell silent, and Kivik didn’t push the topic. Instead, she changed gears, deciding she may as well spend the long carriage ride gathering useful information, not gossipping. “Gallus's journal mentioned the ‘Twilight Sepulcher’,” she prompted gently. 

Karliah sighed. “You've come this far, so I see no harm in concealing it any longer. The Twilight Sepulcher is the temple to Nocturnal. It's what the Nightingales are sworn to protect with their lives.”

“Why does it require that type of protection?” she asked. 

“Everything that represents Nocturnal's influence is contained within the walls of the Sepulcher,” Karliah explained. “Now it seems Mercer's broken his oath with Nocturnal and defiled the very thing he swore to protect.”

“Thieves and temples. It just doesn't add up.” 

“I felt the same way when Gallus first revealed these things to me. I think given time, you'll understand what I mean.”

“I'd understand better if less mystery was involved,” Kivik said. 

“As a Nightingale, I've been sworn to secrecy regarding the Sepulcher. I know the Guild doesn't do much to foster faith, but I'm going to have to ask that you continue to trust me.”

Kivik frowned. Trust hadn’t been working out so well for her lately. She hadn’t been particularly fond of Mercer, but she had trusted him. She had been even less fond of Cicero, but even his betrayal had taken her by surprise.

But there were still those she could trust. Astrid, Brynjolf, Sapphire… even Babbette. Kivik would trust them all with her life. Karliah would just have to join them.


End file.
